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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Nurture.

Paring: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation Of Nursle.

Word Count: 11.0k.

TW: Dub/Con, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Imprisonment, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Semi-Public Sex, Forced Marriage, Panic Attacks/Disassociation, Mentions of Stalking, and Nonchronological Timelines. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One] [Part Three]

You were never supposed to meet Geto Suguru.

It’d been a misstep in the never-ending trudge that was the cosmic timeline; a mistake on behalf of the universe that left you on the doorstep of his temple, glancing between the rustic entryway and the scrap of paper one of your student’s mothers had slipped into your hand a few weeks prior. “They should be able to help with your little problem,” she’d explained with a wink, a knowing glance towards your stiff shoulders, the dark bags under your eyes. “One visit, and you’ll feel like a teenager again.”

You’d smiled politely and told her that you’d give it a try and shoved her note into a drawer below your desk to be swiftly forgotten. You went to a doctor, then a chiropractor, then a psychologist, then briefly considered making an appointment with a fortune teller before finally relenting and deciding that you were, in fact, desperate enough for a miracle healer. It took three trains, two taxis, and more than a handful of helpful strangers, but you’d arrived at the messily scrawled address in one piece. You could still turn around, try your luck with another specialist, another bottle of over-the-counter sleeping pills – sane solutions that sane people fell back on when they encountered problems that sane people had. You could go back to your flat, your ever-growing pile of ungraded tests, and pretend you’d never been here at all. You could do the thing that crazy, desperate people didn’t do, and you could leave.

You took a deep breath, braced yourself, and crossed into the entryway.

An attendant caught you as soon as you’d stepped inside. He was male, middle-aged, wearing the most strained, plastered-on smile you’d ever seen as he bowed his head to you. After a moment of nervous delay, you returned the gesture. “I—Uh, a friend of mine pointed me in your direction,” you stuttered out, doing your best to speak through your anxiety. “She said your head priest could…”

You trailed off, struggling to find the right words. Thankfully, the attendant cut in before you could make yourself look like a complete moron. “Geto-sama?” Impossibly, his smile widened even further. “You’ve come to the right place - he’s a truly miraculous healer. He’s seeing another poor, suffering soul at the moment, but you’re free to wait outside of his sanctuary.”

With a quick nod and a few words of thanks, you were swiftly taken to and abandoned in a small sitting room that, you could only guess, led into the innermost shrine. You sunk into a remarkably uncomfortable wooden chair and managed to sit still for all of three seconds before looking for your next distraction. Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to find.

Two girls sat on the other side of the room; sisters, you guessed, if not twins. One (Mimiko – it’d still be a few days before you learned her name) was perched on the edge of a chair identical to your own while the other (Nanako) sat cross-legged on the floor between her legs, fiddling with a hand-held console as her sister tried and failed to braid her hair. You couldn’t help yourself – a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you watched Mimiko clumsily fumble with the messily divided strands of hair, her frustration written clearly across her expression. You’d always been comfortable around kids, as much as you never wanted to have your own. You didn’t know much about healing priests or mystic illnesses, but you knew how to handle a struggling seven-year-old.

When she looked away from her work, seeming to notice you for the first time, you offered her a bright smile, a quick wave. “Having a hard time?” you asked, gesturing towards her messy handiwork. “I can show you a few tricks, if you’d like.”

There was a long moment of hesitation, a quick look shared with her sister. “I understand if you don’t trust my credentials, but…” You fished out a few spare hair-ties out of your pocket: bright pink and adorned with equally garish bows, the color and design enough to make Nanako’s eyes light up. One of your more absent-minded students tended to forget hers, and you’d gotten into the habit of carrying a healthy stockpile on her behalf. “I did bring my own supplies.”

A few minutes later, you found yourself dutifully combing out Mimiko’s hair while Nanako admired her new pigtails. They seemed reluctant to talk to you, but you did your best to make polite conversation – well, as much as you could with two stand-offish grade schoolers. “Are you two waiting for someone?”

Mimiko pursed her lips, but Nanako wasn’t so shy. “Our dad,” she filled in, the kind of pride only an idealistic child could have for a parent heavy in her voice. “He hates monkeys.”

“Oh.” You did your best to sound surprised, rather than confused. “Does he work for the temple?”

“Mhm – he’s really strong, and super important.” She waited for you to num in acknowledgement, then went on. “You’re here to see him, right? He can definitely help you, if you are.”

Your hands faltered, a lock of Mimiko’s hair slipping out of your loose hold. “Your father’s… the head priest?”

Nanako nodded enthusiastically, and for the first time, Mimiko chimed in, “He’ll probably get rid of your creepy friend.”

This time, you stopped moving entirely. “I’m sorry, my friend?”

Mimiko glanced over her shoulder, moved to speak, but the screen door leading into the shrine slid open before she could answer you. It wasn’t an attendant, this time, but a man in monk’s garb with hair that reached past his shoulders and a grin less strained but just as artificial as that of his attendants. Geto Suguru, although it’d still be some time before you knew to call him that.

His dark eyes found you first, before moving to his daughters. “Girls,” he started, tone more playful than chiding. “Are you bothering my guests?”

The twins exchanged a long, weighty look before Nanako pushed herself to her feet and hurried to her father’s side. With a sigh of mock exasperation, he leaned down, letting her whisper something into his ear as you rushed to finish Mimiko’s braid. You couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it was enough to earn a pair of pursed lips from Suguru, a languid shake of his head. Without responding to her, he straightened his back, already ushering you inside. You took a deep breath, then followed him into the shrine.

He made no attempt to put on a show of false hospitality. Wordlessly, he left you loitering in the center of the very empty, very large room while he stepped onto a raised platform and collapsed onto his side, propping his elbow on a cushioned, stand-alone armrest. This time, when he sighed, it seemed to be out of a more genuine exhaustion, his eyes falling shut briefly as he propped his chin on his fist and brought his free hand to his temples. “I have to apologize for my daughters. If I could watch them constantly, it still wouldn’t be enough.” He opened his eyes, and instantly, you felt the full weight of his stare. If it hadn’t been a feeling you were so used to, it might’ve been enough to send a chill down your spine. “Now, how can I be of service to you?”

You dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to fidget. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping, lately. There’s been this weight on my back, like—”

“Like you’re being watched?”

He spoke confidently, as if answering a question he’d written himself. With your hands clenched into fists at your sides, you nodded. Suguru’s head lulled to the side, his smile taking on a satisfied lilt. “I thought so. Tell me – have you had any scorned lovers in the past? Boyfriends, fiancés, that type of thing?”

“A stalker,” you admitted. “But, he passed a few months ago. There was an accident, and—”

This time, he cut you off with a snap of his fingers. It was brief, barely a flash of movement, but you caught something in the corner of your eye – an amorphous shape perched above your right shoulder, a thousand eyes spotted across its baggy skin and a hundred curling tentacles wrapped around your arms, your chest, your stomach. You shut your eyes, winced, and when you opened them again, the creature was gone and Suguru held a small, pitch-black marble between his thumb and forefinger. He took a second to evaluate it before letting out an approving hum and bringing the marble to his lips, swallowing it whole. In your shock, it didn’t even occur to you to look away.

“These things tend to linger.” It was a meager explanation, but you accepted it whole-heartedly. For the first time in months, you were able to straighten your back, to drop your shoulders, to stand up without a single part of you crying out in protest. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so relieved.

“Thank you,” you nearly gasped, bowing at the waist. “Oh my god, I— I don’t have much money, but—”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask for compensation. Consider this—” A click of his tongue, a roll of his wrist. “—a favor between friends. The most I could ask for is a little of your time, in return.”

You would’ve given him your first-born child, if he’d asked for it. “Of course, anything. I really can’t thank you enough, sir.”

“It’s just— I’ve been trying to find a tutor for my daughters for the longest time, and they already seem fond of you.” For the first time since you’d stepped into his shrine, he sat up, facing you directly. “I understand that you’re a teacher?”

You left the temple a few minutes later, a new number programmed into your phone and a smile brighter than anything you’d worn in years painted across your lips.

You moved in with Satoru the same day he met Himari – as much being told to shove everything you couldn’t live without in a bag because you wouldn’t be coming back to your apartment could be called moving. You would’ve fought it more, but he’d been holding your daughter, and you couldn’t take that kind of risk with her. Not again.

Time seemed to pass in slow, thick clumps. Hours would pass in the blink of an eye and seconds would drag on and on and on until you couldn’t stand the idea of pretending you cared, anymore. A nursery was thrown together in one of Satoru’s guestrooms. When you mentioned that you’d never slept so far from her, Satoru cooed and kissed your cheek.

“It’ll be alright, baby. I’ve got enough monitors to last ‘till she’s eighteen. And, no offense, they’re a little more reliable than what you’ve been using.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll want her sharing a room with us.”

Something pricked at the back of your throat. “I could sleep in here, with—”

“Nope.” He was kind enough to shut you down before you could so much as start to get your hopes up. “Honestly, she should count herself lucky I’m willing to share at all.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Instead, you closed your eyes, and when you found the strength to open them again, the world was dark and your body was cold.

Once the novelty wore off, you fell into a steady routine. Once or twice a week, you’d make the trip to Suguru’s temple and do your best to drill seven years’ worth of public education into Mimiko and Nanako while their father saw his unfortunate visitors. They were smart girls, even if they were more interested in your love life than multiplication tables, and when you thought about Suguru had done for you, you couldn’t say you minded spending a few hours of your weekend in a scenic, rural temple surrounded by Suguru’s (sometimes off-putting, but never unpleasant) congregation.

It took two months before you saw Suguru’s composure slip. It’d been a mistake – an accident on your part as much as it was on his – but you hadn’t thought of it in such fatalistic terms in the moment.

You kept your hands in your pockets as you wandered through the temple’s courtyard, stretching your legs while the girls finished a worksheet on long division (chosen by Nanako over English contractions, much to Mimiko’s protest). Idly, eager to give them as much time as you could, you made your way around the inner sanctum’s perimeter, rounding a sharp corner before abruptly coming to a stop.

Geto sat on the edge of the raised porch, eyes closed and his shoulder braced against the side of a support beam. You moved to flee, to apologize for interrupting his meditation, but you noticed his hunched posture, his slightly parted lips, and let out a breath of a laugh, your panic fading into pity.

Ah, the poor thing.

He was so tired, he’d fallen asleep sitting up.

As little as you’d expected to see a grown man sleeping in public, you weren’t surprised. Suguru was always running himself ragged; either hosting guests or holding sermons or running errands on the temple’s behalf, always coming back with a certain weight to his steps and an off-kilter quirk to his smile. With a sigh, you kneeled next to him and after a moment of hesitation, shrugged off your coat, taking care not to wake him as you draped it over his shoulders. Immediately, he relaxed – an ounce of the tension in his shoulders dissolving as he slumped into himself. You’d considered waking him up, but decided against it. Your own months of sleepless nights and never-ending days were still fresh in your memory. You didn’t want to be the reason he missed out on a few precious minutes of much-needed rest.

You heard a screen door slide open, a high-pitched voice call your name from the other side of the temple. You pushed yourself to your feet, but paused, spared another glance toward Suguru. It was a stupid, spontaneous thing to do, you didn’t give yourself time to think better of it before brushing his bangs away from his face and pressing a kiss into his forehead – the kind of kiss you’d give to one of your students in the wake of scraped knees and playground arguments. When he failed to stir, you pulled back and crossed your arms over your chest, doing your best to keep yourself warm as you started back to where his girls were waiting for you.

Satoru was at your door as soon as the bell rang.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you must’ve known he wouldn’t give up old patterns so easily. He loitered in the hallway while your hyper-active students filtered out, slipped inside as the last of the stranglers did their best not to gawk at the inhumanely tall stranger with unnaturally white hair. By the time he crossed the threshold, you and Megumi were the only ones left, the latter dutifully waiting for his daily busy work at the corner of your desk.

Satoru acknowledged him with a click of his tongue, a quick ruffle to Megumi’s hair before he moved onto you. “There’s my pretty girl,” he half-said, half-sung as he slung an arm around your neck, pulling you into his chest. “Had you on my mind all day. Couldn’t stop wishin’ I had your pretty ti—”

You cleared your throat into your hand, nodding pointedly towards Megumi. Satoru’s grin faltered, then collapsed into a pursed-lipped frown. He didn’t say anything, but his thumb dug into your shoulder, his cruel eyes flickering to you over the dark lenses of his glasses. You didn’t need any further instruction. If Suguru taught you anything, it’d been how to get rid of unwanted company.

“Megumi.” You waved him toward you, and despite the mix of distrust and exasperation written clearly across his expression, he stepped forward. Still, you braced yourself before going on. As little as you wanted to associate him with Satoru, to blame him for what Satoru did to you, you hadn’t been able to meet his eyes all day. Whenever you looked at him, you couldn’t help but think about Himari, and whenever you thought about Himari—

“You usually walk home with Tsumiki today, right?” He didn’t, but you couldn’t think of a better excuse. Lately, it was all you could do to put one word in front of another, let alone actually manage to clear away enough of the thick, buzzing static clouding your mind to form an intelligent thought. “You should really get going, before she starts to think you left without her.”

His gaze dropped to the ground. He mumbled something just a breath below audible, and you forced yourself to smile. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone with him.” His tone was clipped, his eyes narrowed. “He’s… He’s gross, and weird, and you shouldn’t talk to him.”

If he’d been any other kid, if Satoru had been any other adult, you might’ve laughed, chided him for speaking so rudely about his elders. Instead, you only sighed, your smile faltering as you brought a hand to his shoulder. “We’re just going to have a little chat, that’s all. I promise, I’ll be just fine when we see each other tomorrow.” You paused, lowered your voice into something playfully conspiratorial. “Between you and me, I think he’s pretty weird too. Thanks for looking out for me.”

His scowl deepened, but he didn’t protest. After tossing one more glare in Satoru’s direction, he trudged out of your classroom, letting the door slam behind him. You didn’t have time to feel relief or dread or much of anything before Satoru was on top of you – his knee planted between your thighs, one of his hands groping at your waist while the other caught your chin, holding you in place while his lips crashed into yours, the kiss mess and open-mouthed and desperate. “The brat’s annoying,” he muttered, as he pulled away. “But I can’t say I don’t see where he’s coming from. If you’d been my teacher, I don’t think I would’ve been able to stop myself from bending you over your desk ‘n earning a little extra credit.”

A wave of nausea washed over you. You couldn’t stop yourself from buckling forward, but Satoru had already moved on, found his way to the side of your neck. “Please, don’t talk about my students like—”

Your voice gave out as he bit down – burying his teeth in your throat in less of a love-bite and more of an effort to eat you alive. You barely managed to stop yourself from crying out, but panic quickly swallowed whatever pain you might’ve felt. It’d leave a mark, one you wouldn’t be able to hide, not completely. Against your will, your mind flashed to Megumi and, if you’d been just a little weaker, you might’ve collapsed, passed out while Satoru lapped the blood now trickling down your throat. If you’d been just a little luckier, you might’ve fallen apart entirely.

Your hands shot to his hair, and Satoru let out a throaty groan. His hands fell to your thighs, and before you could so much as think to struggle, you were laid across your desk, folders and worksheets pushed aside in favor of trapping your body underneath his. “Always wanted to do this,” he muttered into your shoulder, already pulling your skirt to your waist. “Might have to go into teaching, too – just so you can return the favor.”

He might’ve gone on, but you were done listening.

You would have to request a change of classroom, tomorrow morning.

Nanako returned your coat to you a week later, rolling on the balls of her feet and grinning from ear to ear.

You saw Suguru more often, after that.

Granted, not too often, and never for very long. He was still a busy man, and most of your interactions were limited to minute-long conversations as you found each other heading in the same direction, a few niceties exchanged as you dropped Nanako and Mimiko off at the door of his shrine. He never struck you as overly guarded, but you could count the number of times you’d heard him speak about himself on a single hand. If it hadn’t been for his girls, you probably would never have learned his given name.

Winter had begun its swift and relentless approach, and you found yourself standing outside of the temple’s gates, watching the sun slip below the horizon and debating if it would be worth it to cough up the cash for a taxi, rather than dragging yourself through the labyrinth that was public transportation in the dark. As you checked your phone for the dozenth time, you caught a flash of movement in your peripheral and glanced up only to find Suguru – changed out of his monk’s garb and into a plain shirt and a pair of sweatpants that made him look more like an exhausted college student than the head of his own temple. He nodded to you by way of greeting, and you flashed him a smile. “Waiting for someone?”

“Something like that.” You looked back to your phone and sighed. “I might have to make our next session a little earlier. I forgot how dark it could get and, well, you know what it’s like in the city.”

You withered, but Suguru only brightened. “Let me give you a ride.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate to—”

“Please, (Y/n).” You could see why he had such a dedicated congregation. When he spoke, it was impossible not to listen. “Just think of it as a favor between friends.”

You wanted to refuse, to tell him not to waste his time, but a streetlamp buzzed to life somewhere above you and the last trace of your resolve crumbled. A few minutes later, you were in the back of a sleek, black car – Suguru sitting next to you and his driver hidden behind a tinted partition. More time than you would’ve liked passed in tense silence before you, more motivated by discomfort than gratitude, broke the quiet. “I was surprised when I found out Nanako and Mimiko were homeschooled.” Before he could respond, you realized how it must’ve sounded and tried to backtrack. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! It’s just—you’re always so busy, and they’re such bright girls. I’m sure that, if you ever did want to get them enrolled, they’d do very well. It’d free up a lot of your time, too.”

You thought you saw him wince, but it could’ve just been a trick of the light. By the time you turned to face him properly, his expression was unreadable – his lips pulled into a thin line and his dark eyes focused on some unseen point in the distance. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” he admitted, before letting an airy sigh. “But… I made a lot of bad choices, when I first took them in. The were a bad situation, and I was young and stupid, and I— I think I might’ve fucked things up. For them, at least. I probably would’ve ended up in the same place eventually.” Another sigh, a lengthy pause. When he went on, his tone was heavier, his usual confidence greatly diminished, if not absent entirely. “…you don’t think I made a mistake, do you?”

You took a second to think, letting your eyes fall to your lap. “I don’t,” you said, finally. “The girls seem happy, and you’re providing for them. They won’t have normal lives, but—” You hummed, shrugged. “Who does?”

He seemed to relax, the harsh edges of his expression dulling. His eyes shifted to you. “You’re not going to tell anyone, right?”

This time, you didn’t hesitate at all, shaking your head with a slight smile. “Consider it,” You let your tone dip into something teasing and secretive, raising your chin the way he tended to when talking to guests and members of his congregation. “a favor between friends.”

Your showmanship earned a dry chuckle, a softened gaze. After a long beat, he asked, “Would you mind if I, uh…” He trailed off, tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Would you mind if I tried something?”

Now, it was your turn to laugh. You’d assumed he was in his mid-twenties, but he must’ve been younger – he was acting like a teenager. “Go ahead, Suguru.”

Despite your reassurance, he stalled for a few seconds before, more than a little stiltedly, bending at his waist and resting his head gingerly on your lap. It was an awkward position, the back of the car too cramped for him to lay down properly, but his eyes fell shut and after the initial shock faded, you could only smile, raising a hand and combing your fingers idly through his hair. When you pulled the elastic band holding his half-bun together out of place, letting his hair fall loose over your thighs, he didn’t protest, only going that much more limp on top of you.

You two stayed that way for the rest of the trip; his head in your lap, your finger carding through his hair, the only noise that of traffic and the occasional muted hum when your attention started to drift. It was only when his driver pulled onto the curb in front of your complex that Suguru raised his head, blinking himself back into consciousness. You turned to let yourself out, only to feel him take up one of your hands – his fingers soon intertwined with yours. You didn’t have time to ask him what he was doing before you felt him cup your cheek, before you felt his mouth against yours.

The kiss was gentle but warm, shallow but lingering. He held you there, his lips barely yours, for a second, then another, before you snapped out of it and pulled away – your disgust as immediate as it was it was self-concentrated. If Suguru felt the same way, he hid it well. You could only make out the slightest trace of hurt in the down-turned corners of his parted lips.

He started to say something, but you were already rushing to apologize. “I’m sorry, Suguru. You’re a sweet kid, but I’m—” You forced yourself to laugh, the noise jolting and strained. “I’m nearly twice your age.”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t care how old you are.”

“Exactly.” You shook your head, dragging a hand over your face. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been more clear about, I don’t know,” You gestured vaguely. “—everything. And I should really—”

Again, you moved to leave, and again, he stopped you. This time, he caught you by the wrist. “I’m not a kid.” You tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened. You felt something in your forearm begin to ache. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you how serious I am.”

“Absolutely not.” You pried the door open and jerked away from him just in time to stumble out of his car and onto the pavement. You saw his posture straighten, his body tense as if he was going to try to lunge at you, but mercifully, he must’ve thought better of it. His anger was, instead, focused entirely into his unblinking stare, and you did your best to speak in spite of the way his eyes burnt into your chest. “I… I think it would be for the best if we didn’t see each other, for a while. Tell the girls I’m out of town, and—” You swallowed, dryly. “—I think you should get some rest, Suguru. You need it.”

As awful as it made you feel, you slammed the door shut before he could respond. He didn’t try to chase you, but his car hadn’t moved by the time you made it to your flat. With your doors locked and your blinds pulled shut, you watched it until, hours after midnight, you nodded off.

He was gone when you woke up, and you could only hope he’d be mature enough to mind his distance.

Satoru’s face was buried between your thighs when you heard his phone ring, his hands curled around your thighs and your body perched on the edge of one of his rarely used marble counters. You would’ve missed it entirely if you’d been a little closer to the edge, if he’d been just a little nosier as he moaned and grunted into your cunt, but you weren’t, and he wasn’t, and the sound of that melodic dial-tone cut through the haze like a knife through fog (relatively ineffective, but still violent enough to draw attention). You straightened as much as you could, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging, gently. “Satoru, I think—”

“It’s not important,” he muttered against your thigh, drawing back just far enough to be audible. “’s probably just the kids. They said they were coming over, but—” He flashed you a smile, bright eyes catching the light. “They can wait ‘till we’re done. I can’t just leave my pretty girl unsatisfied.”

Immediately, the haze stiffened and shattered into a panic-inducing, heart-racing clarity. You straightened, cursed under your breath, but Satoru tongue was already lapping over your soaked slit, the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as he all-but worshipped your pussy. This time, you didn’t tug, but pulled – doing what little you could to pry him off of you, but all you earned was a throaty whine, his fingertips dug that much deeper into the plush of your ass. His tongue bullied its way past your clenching entrance, curling and thrusting, and it took everything you had not to snap your thighs shut around his head, not to give him what he wanted. “Satoru,” you spat, using the same tone you’d put on for a misbehaving student. “S-stop.”

It was more of an instinct than a decision, more of a reflex than a choice, but either way, it didn’t seem to make a difference. With his eyes blearily focused on your expression, his mouth latched onto your pussy like it was the last thing he’d ever taste, he fucked you open with his tongue until your toes were curling, your legs twitching, your vision burning pure white in a way that made you wish you could give up on sight altogether. He nursed you through your climax until the last of your energy was spent before pushing himself to his feet and slamming his mouth into yours – his teeth cutting into your lips and your taste heavy on his tongue. By the time he pulled away, you were panting and he was wearing that awful, careless grin. You never thought you’d miss Suguru’s calculated smile, and yet.

And yet.

You didn’t have time to be angry. The kids came first – a thought that, if you’d given yourself a chance to linger on it, would’ve been more of a cause for concern. “Go clean yourself up, I’ll take care of the kitchen. Call them back as soon as you’re finished.”

“I love it when you get bossy,” he said, with a dreamy sigh. “It’s hot in a, like, ‘put me over your knee and spank me’ way, y’know?”

Your only response was a quick shake of your head, a repulsed curl of your lips. Satoru only laughed, pecking your cheek and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “They’ll love you. Megumi likes to act shy, but he can’t shut up about you. Tsumiki’ll just be ecstatic to have a baby sister,” he mumbled into your throat. “You wouldn’t break their hearts, would you?”

It might’ve hurt less, if there hadn’t already been two little girls somewhere in Japan who knew that you absolutely would.

You called Suguru from the curb in front of your flat, your head in your hands and tears streaming openly down your cheeks. He let it ring once, twice, before answering. You could practically hear the smile in his voice, practically feel the smugness in his tone. “I thought we weren’t talking, dear?”

You swallowed back another ragged sob. “It’s back.”

He was there within the hour – alone, this time, no girls and no driver. You stayed where you were as he let himself into your flat, returning only a few minutes later with a thoughtful hum and a thin frown playing on his lips. “It’s rare, but it does happen,” he started, as he sat down next to you. He was dressed in street clothes, rather than his monk’s garb. Somehow, that only made it more difficult to look at him. “Particularly restless spirits can lie dormant before reappearing stronger and more attached to their living host. A standard exorcism might no longer be enough to banish it.”

You felt something heavy and pointed drop into the pit of your stomach. Calling it 'stronger' was an understatement – you couldn’t believe something so massive, something so awful had ever been attached to you. When you let your mind wander, you could still see its dripping, pitch-black arms writhing over the walls and ceiling of your bedroom, still feel its countless eyes burning into you – a hundred, no, a thousand times worse than it’d been when Suguru had first sent it away. You buckled at the waist, burying your face in your knees, and Suguru rested a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles into your shoulder. You were thankful for the comfort, even if it would’ve taken you another few weeks to completely forget the feeling of his hand around your wrist. “Can you…” You cringed, shrunk into yourself. “Can you help?”

“Oh, absolutely.” If he’d been just a little more cocky, he would’ve been purring. “But I’m afraid it’ll cost you more than a favor, this time.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“I know.” His hand went still, settling on your shoulder. “But I need you to give me something, this time.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Anything,” you repeated, with all the desperation of a sinner laid bare before the altar. “Please, Suguru. Anything.”

“I need an heir.”

You could practically feel your heart split open and shatter inside of you. “…an heir?”

“For the sake of my congregation,” he said, like that explained anything. “We’ll have to get married first, of course. You’ll be taken care of until the child’s born, and then, you’ll be free to go.” His hand fell to your own, squeezing gently. “Or to stay with us, if that’s what you prefer.”

Any other time, the idea alone would’ve been enough to make you sick. Any other day, you would’ve told him that he could have anything, anything but that.

But, in the moment, all you could seem to think about was your flat and the monster inside of it. You felt yourself nod and, before you could take it back, heard Suguru laugh, felt his lips against your temple. “You’re making the right choice,” he muttered, the words nearly lost against your skin. “I love you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it back.

Tsumiki and Megumi were asleep in the guest room turned makeshift nursery. Megumi had been slow to warm, quick to hear Satoru introduce you as his ‘one and only’ and assume the worst (which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly wrong), but Tsumiki hadn’t been so stand-offish, and ultimately, whatever concerns an eight year old could have for your safety crumbled under his sister’s desire to fawn over your newborn. You were glad. You didn’t want him to worry about you. That was a mistake you’d made with Nanako and Mimiko. You’d let Suguru give them a reason to care if you left, and then, you’d left.

Your gaze drifted to Himari. She’d always loved attention (a trait you could only assume she’d inherited from her father), and she’d spent most of the afternoon and the entire evening basking in Tsumiki and Megumi’s adoration. Currently, she was sitting in your lap, giggling and clapping her hands together as you idly bounced her on your knee. The sight alone was enough to make your heart soar – any thoughts of Satoru and his wards fading into the background as you leaned forward and peppered her tiny face with kisses. It was a miracle that you loved her at all, let alone as much as you did. Pregnancy hadn’t been kind to you, and it wasn’t until the moment she was born that you could stand to think of yourself as a mother of a child, rather than just the incubator to a cultist’s pipedream. You’d never wanted children, but now that you had one, you couldn’t imagine letting anything in the world take her away from you.

Maybe, if he’d been a little kinder to her, if he hadn’t already had two daughters to spoil and adore, you might’ve been able to justify loving Himari less than you did, might’ve been able to leave her in his care when you pried a window open and fled in the middle of the night. He’d never been cruel to her, but no part of you believed that he wouldn’t have been if she’d failed to do what she’d been made for – if your love for her hadn’t been enough to keep you by his side. Even if you hadn’t loved her at all, you still would’ve taken her with you. No child deserved to be left in the care of a monster like Suguru.

You choose, deliberately, to only think about Himari, to tell yourself that you only ever had to think about Himari. You couldn’t afford to break your own heart a second time.

Choosing not to think about Megumi and Tsumiki proved more difficult.

It was a courthouse wedding, the ceremony little more than a few signatures and a hesitant ‘congratulations’ from the officiant. Suguru’s assistant – a blonde woman who looked at you with equal parts sympathy and disgust – acted as the witness. Suguru explained that, after your first child was born, there would be a more elaborate ceremony, something with rings and dresses and flowers that the girls could participate in. You were too dissociated to point out that there wasn’t supposed to be anything after the child was born, let alone something that would leave you that much more bound to him.

You expected him to take you back to your flat, or the villa on the outskirts of the city you’d visited a handful of times when he couldn’t meet you at his temple, but instead, you found yourself standing in front of one of the tallest, brightest hotels you’d ever seen. “It is a special occasion,” he said, as you stared blankly at the entrance. “I wouldn’t be a good husband if I didn’t spoil my wife now and then, right?”

“Please,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say, my love.” His smile was giddier than you’d ever seen it, amusement heavy in his voice. “Let me give you a hand.”

The interior was no less agonizing than the exterior. You could feel a hundred pairs of eyes burning into you as you hung off Surugu’s arm, your own legs too weak to be trusted to support you. Rather than relief, dread coiled in the pit of your stomach as he led you to your room – a suite on the highest floor. You considered, briefly, trying to tell him that you were afraid of heights, but decided against it. Even in your own head, it sounded too childish to be believable, and you couldn’t imagine dragging this out for a second longer than it absolutely had to be.

You stepped into the room and were immediately reminded that Suguru had been the one to make the arrangements. A bottle of wine sat in a bucket of ice on a velvet-cushioned ottoman. Bouquets of roses and their disembodied petals had been carefully spread across every possible surface – painting the room with misshapen splotches of bright red. A colorless atrocity of white silk and lace had been laid across the king-sized bed. You got close enough to recognize it for what it was (bridal lingerie, veil and all) before turning away and collapsing onto the foot of the bed, your vision blurry and your heart racing.

You felt your mouth go dry, your throat tighten, but you forced yourself to speak. You wouldn’t have been able to stand the silence. “Am I—” A pause, a distraught glance towards the monstrosity. “Am I supposed to wear that?”

“I might’ve been a little overzealous,” he admitted, stepping in front of you. Slowly, he lowered himself onto one knee, taking your hands in his. “I’ll be gentle, if that’s what you’re worried about. The only thing I want you to feel is pleasure.” He brought the underside of your wrist to his lips. “I love you.”

You couldn’t be sure what it was. How sincere he sounded, maybe, or how young he looked kneeling in front of you, away from his temple and out of his costume. He kissed the back of your hand, and a ragged sob tore past your lips, all the tears you hadn’t been able to shed during the ceremony suddenly beading in the corners of your eyes. As you tried to keep them at bay with your free hand, Suguru’s smile wavered, and for the first time that you’d seen, fell away completely.

He posed the question softly, carefully. You wished he would’ve been just a little more eager to break you. At least, then, you could’ve hated him for it. “…you really don’t want to do this, do you?”

There was no point trying to lie. You shook your head and watched as Suguru deflated. His eyes had always been dark, but in that moment, you could’ve sworn they’d never seen any light at all.

Before you could brace yourself, his mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise. You tasted blood, felt his tongue rake over yours; whatever gentleness he’d promised to show you little more than a distant fantasy. As his mouth moved against yours, his hand slipped under your dress – two fingers dragging over your slit through your panties before his thumb found your clit through the thin material and he pushed a rough, impulsive pattern into the sensitive bud. You shrunk into yourself, your hands finding their way to his chest before you could stop yourself from trying to push him away, but Suguru didn’t seem to care, to notice. Your panties were torn away entirely, and like a man possessed, he fell back to his knees between your open legs and started to devour you whole.

Your thighs were pulled onto his shoulders, his hands curled around your hips as the flat of his tongue laved over your slit, teasing the entrance of your pussy and flicking over your clit. He alternated between tracing vague figure-eights into your cunt and lapping up the slick starting to drip from your poor, confused pussy – your exhausted body eager to accept any affection Suguru had to show you, if you could even call what he was forcing onto your affection. You tried to reach for him, to pull him away from, but you failed to so much as make contact before he let out a near-violent snarl, calloused fingertips burrowing into vulnerable flesh as he pulled you that much closer, hauling your ass off the bed and leaving you on your back, your arms crossed over your face and your ankles crossed over his back. You sobbed openly, now, but your disparate cries were interrupted by cracked whimpers and half-swallowed mewls – little, pathetic sounds you didn’t have the strength to suppress. Suguru didn’t stop. Honestly, you would’ve been surprised if he could hear you at all over the sound of his own heady panting, of his tongue fucking into your now-soaked cunt.

You almost regretted not taking him back to your flat that first night – when he kissed you like you were the most delicate thing in the world. If you’d given in right away, he might’ve had the self-restraint to hold back. Or, to try to, at least.

One of his hands left your waist, falling low enough for the pad of his thumb to press into your clit. Messily, roughly, he toyed with the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves as his tongue thrust shallowly into your cunt, curling and splitting apart the hot, clenching walls of your pussy. You felt a deep, full-chested moan reverberate up the length of your spine, and that was enough to leave you tumbling over the edge, to leave your thighs clenching around his head as you came undone on his tongue. He ate you out through the aftershocks, but didn’t stop - fucking you open with his tongue until you’d stumbled through another climax, then another, a mix of slick and saliva soon coating his chin and staining the sheets below you. By the time he pulled away, you were crying not from despair, but overstimulation; pangs of pure heat searing your nerves and leaving your cunt aching for reprieve. You were only vaguely aware of the mattress dipping beside you, of his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you for what felt like the hundredth time. As his lips pressed into yours, you decided that, if tonight was the last time you ever had to kiss someone, it wouldn’t be so bad. Not when compared to the alternative.

“I love you,” he mumbled, and then again as he pulled away, “I love you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your voice felt like something you were no longer entitled to use; a vague concept that’d been placed at an inconceivable distance by some cruel deity. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Suguru bare his teeth in frustration. Your dress wasn’t so much removed as it was torn away from you, and you couldn’t help but wither without it. Modesty could only count so much when you could still see your arousal coating his lips, but still, it hurt.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he pulled you into the center of the bed and haphazardly dragged his shirt over his head. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You’d seen his bare arms plenty of times, watched him lift Nanako and Mimiko clean off the ground without so much as a trace of strain, and yet, something inside of you still curled up and died as your eyes raked over his sculpted chest, the corded muscle that seemed to cover every inch of him. More out of shock than anything, you moved to sit up, to put some distance between yourself and a man who looked like he could’ve torn your head off your shoulders on a whim, but he was quick to stop you, to press a palm into your chest and force you back onto the bed. With his other hand, he dragged his pants down just far enough to free his cock and, instantly, whatever desolation you might’ve felt at the sight of his bare chest was multiplied ten-fold.

You didn’t realize you were shaking your head until you moved to speak, your voice shaking and small. “That’s not going to—”

“It will.” That authority – that tone of absolute control – was back in full force. Still, you couldn’t seem to make yourself believe him. “I won’t stop until it does.”

Your heart fell into your stomach as he dragged his swollen, leaking tip over your pussy – the flushed head catching on your abused clit and drawing an airy whimper past your lips. He was, by far, the biggest man you’d ever seen, let alone slept with. As if that wasn’t enough, he was already harder than you knew someone could be – thick, pearly beads dripping from his tip and down his shaft, his more prominent veins almost pulsing as he aligned with your entrance. Even his balls were fucking huge.

Fit for a breeder, something vicious and awful whispered into the back of your mind. You tried to ignore it, but you couldn’t disagree.

Your eyes darted to his expression and met his, already blearily focused on you. You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said was stolen away from you as his hips bucked forward and he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

You’d been right, when you’d tried to stop him.

He was going to kill you.

Already, he was too much. A fresh wave of tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his cock threatened to tear you apart. Suguru let out a raspy groan, his head falling forward and he drew back, pulling out of you until only his head remained in your pussy only to snap his hip and bury himself that much deeper, only to stretch you that much further. “See?” One his hands fell to your lower stomach, the heel of his palm pressing into the soft flesh like he could feel the outline of his cock. He might’ve been able to. You were too scared to check. “You’re a perfect fit.”

There was another grunt, another breathy groan as he fell into an unsteady pace – every thrust brutal and back-breaking. His hands found their way to the headboard, curling around its upper edge as he fucked into you. He didn’t so much find the right spot as find a way to hit every spot constantly, his cock filling your pussy to the brim, leaving you desperately trying to clench down around him to no avail. A high-pitched whine – fractured and pathetic – tore past your lips, and Suguru let out an airy chuckle. “Not gonna be able to get enough of this.” His pubic bone scraped against your clit and you threw your head back, your back arching off of the mattress. Your sensitivity was rewarded with another laugh, a hand brought down just to grope idly at your chest. “I can’t let you out of my sight, from now own. I think I’ll lose my mind if I have to go a day without feeling this perfect pussy wrapped around my cock.”

It was hard to think, let alone piece two words together. Still, you managed to spit something out, fighting to speak above the sound of skin against skin, hips against hips. “B-but, you said— the baby—”

“Fuck the baby. This—” He slapped your clit, his touch harsh enough to make you cry out. “—is all mine.”

A hand around your throat, a new brutality to his thrusts. His grip wasn’t tight, he wasn’t choking you, and yet, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think about anything other than his cock and the feeling of your cunt being split open around it. “You’re mine.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he sounded relieved. “And you always will be.”

Meeting Suguru had been a mistake. Asking for his help had been a mistake. Agreeing to this terrible deal had been a mistake.

But, cumming around his cock as that final possessive sentiment trickled past his lips was the biggest mistake you’d ever made or ever would make, again.

Your cunt clamped down around him – a vice around his cock. With your fists balled around satin sheets and your legs wrapped around his waist, your body convulsed underneath his, your pussy doing everything in its limited power to milk him dry. You heard Suguru curse under his breath, his hips pushing flush against yours as something thick and searing flooded into your cunt. What little managed to leak out around the base of his cock was caught with two fingers and forced back in; no drop wasted.

With a heavy exhale, Suguru dipped lower, his lips grazing over your cheek, then the curve of your neck. You shut your eyes, letting yourself deflate. It was over. No matter how you might’ve felt, no matter how much you might’ve wanted to crawl out of your skin, it was ov—

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulled out of you, only to push back in; his rough, punishing pace only made slightly more bearably by the weight of his orgasm.

The next morning, you’d wake up to Suguru’s arm around your waist and a pregnancy test on the bedside table. It’d be too early to tell, but you wouldn’t bother to so much as open the box. Nothing could’ve kept Suguru from trying again, and again, and again in the days to follow.

Come to think of it, you couldn’t be sure if he ever stopped.

“How long is this supposed to last?”

Megumi and Tsumiki were walking a few yards ahead of you, stopping to stare into every other shop window before running ahead, and Himari was currently tucked against Satoru’s chest, occupying herself with a thorough (albeit, mostly oral) investigation of the collar of his shirt. You couldn’t cook and Satoru refused to do much of anything before noon, so the only choice left was to chase after promises of crepe trucks and cafes. Your question earned a hum, a glance toward you, but not much more. As little as you liked about Satoru, you were thankful he had such an even temper. Suguru was never so slow to react.

“Forever, preferably,” he answered, with a slight shrug. “Or until I die, at least – sorcerers have a pretty high mortality rate. I’m the best at what I do, but even the strongest ant gets crushed eventually.” He paused, pressed a quick kiss into the top of Himari’s head. “I’ll make sure to leave a big trust fund, though. You’re gonna be living off your daddy for a long, long time.”

You let your eyes fall to the sidewalk. “You don’t have to pretend you care about her. I know you’re only doing this because of him.”

If he’d denied it immediately, you wouldn’t have believed him. If he’d sworn that Suguru had nothing to do with it, if he’d dropped to his knees in front of you, if he’d told you that he loved you, you wouldn’t have believed him. But, in the end, he only pursed his lips, his head lulling to the side as he considered it. “At first, yeah,” he admitted, tracing patterns into Himari’s back. “I heard that he’d gotten with someone and… I got curious. I guess I was a little jealous.” He paused, his tone abrupt going light and sheepish. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, in retrospect – making the brats go to your school and following you around and all. I just wanted to see what kind of person could make Suguru go soft, but then I saw how you were with the little princess—” He lifted Himari above his head, grinning up at her while she spouted happy gibberish. “—and fell for you, head over heels. All I could think about was gathering you both up in my arms and takin’ you home.”

“You make us sound like stray animals.”

“I mean, you kind of are, right?” You jutted your elbow into his side, and he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Okay, okay, you’re runaways. I didn’t know you were so pedantic, (Y/n).”

He slotted Himari against his hip, his attention momentarily falling away from her as he shot a quick, teasing smile in your direction. “I like you.” His voice was soft, dull – like he was saying something you didn’t already know. Like he was giving something away. “And I want you to stick around.”

“I’m sure Suguru would’ve said the same thing.”

“I’m not like Suguru.” He found your hand, his fingers soon intertwined with yours. “I wouldn’t let you go so easily.”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. Ahead of you, Tsumiki turned on her heel and waved excitedly. She’d picked a café (presumably with minimal input from Megumi); a picturesque little spot with a sun-speckled patio and overgrown garden boxes. Satoru’s hand tightened around yours, tugging you forward, and just this time, you didn’t bother trying to pull away.

The man on his knees in front of you was older – his hair receding and dotted with grey. A salaryman, you guessed, judging by his wrinkled suit, the ink stains on his sleeves. You couldn’t see his expression, not with his forehead pressed against the floor of Suguru’s sanctuary, but you could hear the pain in his voice as he pled for Suguru’s help, see the slight tremble in his shoulders. You didn’t have to assume the cause of his distress.

You couldn’t be sure when you started to see the spirits – or, the curses, you mean. It must’ve been around the end of the first trimester; your little glimpses at crooked monsters and mangled beasts solidifying into full, unrelenting exposure. Suguru suggested (after he’d finished celebrating what he would, later on, refer to as the best day of his life) that it might be a symptom of the pregnancy, that carrying a sorcerer’s child may’ve triggered some pocket of laden cursed energy buried inside of you, but you couldn’t help but think of it as some kind of cosmic punishment, even if you couldn’t begin to guess what you were being punished for.

It had to be a punishment, though. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be watching a small swarm of winged, imp-like creatures bite and scratch at the cowering salaryman, each swipe of their claws and nip of their pointed teeth enough to leave ragged, bloody stripes in his arms, his back. You felt bile rise into the back of your throat, but forced yourself not to shut your eyes, to keep your expression one of unbothered neutrality. Suguru would help him, just like he helped you.

As if by way of encouragement, you let your nails scrape over his scalp. After you started showing, the only job Suguru deemed you capable of was that of his new headrest. He took care of everything else – petitioning for maternity leave, moving you out of your flat and into the villa he shared with his girls, rewriting every little aspect of your life to better the role you’d inhabit for the next nine months: his pregnant wife. Currently, he was on his side, on leg bent at the knee and his head propped on your thighs, your fingers threaded through his hair. You’d cringed at the idea, at first, but Suguru insisted that it wouldn’t be an issue. The perks of leading your own cult, you guessed. No one could challenge his authority when he was the only authority they could possibly look to.

After a moment longer than you would’ve liked, Suguru cut off the salaryman’s incoherent rambling with a slight hum. Immediately, the salaryman fell silent, and Suguru let his head lull to the side, leaning into your palm. “Manami,” he started, addressing his assistant. She’d been called in shortly after the salaryman made his entrance. “How long has it been since our honored sponsor’s last donation?”

She glanced toward her tablet. “It’ll be five months this week.”

The salaryman scrambled to apologize. “I—I’m sorry, my store went out of business, and I—”

The corner of Suguru’s lips quirked downward. The entirety of the swarm descended onto the salaryman before you could so much as flinch away.

To say they tore him apart would be an understatement. One second, he was there, bowing in front of you, and the next, little more scraps of fabric and disembodied viscera decorated the floor of the sanctuary. Suguru snapped his fingers and, in an instant, the creatures vanished – leaving behind only gore and the thick stench of copper hanging in the stagnant air. Your hand stilled in Suguru’s hair. You might’ve passed out, if you’d been able to process what you’d just watched.

Suguru took notice of your distress quickly. That, or he just wanted to bask in his kill more privately. “If I could be alone with my wife for a moment, Manami.”

Her eyes flickered to you, lingering for a moment before she bowed her head. “Of course, Geto-sama. I’ll fetch someone to clean up this mess.”

Once she was gone, Suguru rolled onto his back, letting his eyes fall shut. “These fucking monkeys,” he sighed, with a shake of his head. “I swear, they’ll be the death of me. They can’t even seem to die without causing more trouble than they’re worth.”

“You can control them?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, dear.”

“The spirits.” And then again, with more urgency, “You can control them?”

His exasperation was swiftly replaced with self-satisfaction so potent, you could nearly taste it. “Would you expect anything less from me? Only a handful are strong enough to be helpful, but even pests can be put to good use.”

You felt like an idiot for asking. You felt like an idiot for having to ask, but you just couldn’t seem to stop yourself. “My spirit. The one I came to you for.” It felt like your tongue was coated in salt and ask. “Was he one of the stronger spirits?”

A beat lapsed in silence, then another.

Finally, Suguru let out a long, raspy exhale and brought a hand to your stomach. “I hope it’s a girl,” he muttered, almost absent-mindedly. “I hope she looks just like you.”

You took a single, stilted breath.

When you met your daughter a few months later, impossibly tiny and infinitely lovable and so agonizingly helpless, it would almost be a relief to see Suguru’s face staring back at you.

“She has your eyes.”

You heard his voice before you saw his face, but you would’ve known Suguru from aura alone. You froze in the doorway of the unlit nursery, searching for him in the darkness, but Suguru didn’t make himself hard to find.

“Not the color, but the shape.” He was standing next to the cradle, a soft smile painted across his lips and your daughter in his arms. She was sleeping, and you were thankful for it. You’d kept Himari away from him as much as you’d been able to in the weeks leading up to your escape, but even their minimal exposure had seemed crushing, at the time. Above all else, you never wanted your daughter to be able to recognize her father’s face. “Oh, but she must have my temperament. I’ve heard she rarely cries, even with nuisances like Satoru around.”

You’d left your phone in the living room. Satoru wasn’t home and he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning, but maybe, if you screamed, someone would hear you. Maybe, you’d be able to run while Suguru tore them apart, limb by limb.

In the end, it was all you could do to make yourself speak – your voice thin and prone to catching in your throat. “Get out of my apartment.”

“But this isn’t your apartment, is it?” With a quiet, hushing sound, he lowered Himari back into her cradle and turned to face you. “Honestly, if I’d known you were just going to run into another man’s arms, I would’ve been more careful with you. I wonder if you’ll feel more loyal to your husband with a chain around your neck.”

“You manipulated me. You made me have a ba—”

“I loved you.” He cut you off with all the delicacy of a rusty knife sawing through flesh. “I do love you, even if I’m starting to question how much of it you deserve.”

He stepped forward. You wanted to turn away from him, to run, but your body was uncooperative, too rigid to do anything more than shake as he came to stand in front of you. “Can you say it back to me? Just this once.” He brought a hand to your cheek. “I’ll forgive you for everything, if you do.”

You tried to. Not for him, but for your daughter – made expendable by her failure to keep you bound to Suguru. You tried to, but all that slipped past your parted lips was a wordless cry, torn and anguished and far from what he’d asked for.

“No?” He feigned disappointment, letting out an airy sigh. “I guess that’s to be expected.”

He took a deep breath, then rested his head against the dip of your shoulder. His hand fell to your stomach as he spoke into your skin.

“Maybe, after we have our second, you’ll change your mind.”

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time-woods · 1 year ago

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i NEED your cosmic owl BIBLICALLY.

no trick or treats. just treats. maybe i can get him as a treat if im lucky wink wink

here he is, special 4 you anon

#asks #the cosmic owl #adventure time

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objectivelyimpermanent · 9 months ago

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73 yards theory: The woman didn't say anything in particular to make everyone run away from Ruby. Instead, interacting with her broke the perception filter, which was the Fourth Wall.

This season has multiple moments of breaking the Fourth Wall already. For example, the wall-breaking aspects of The Devil's Chord, like the glances and winks into the camera, the Doctor's "non-diegetic" music comment, and the NuWho music themes that Ruby started to sing when Maestro split open her soul. Additionally, 73 Yards had no title sequence, and other aspects of this episode could be hints at wall-breaking. The knowledge Ruby retained of visiting Wales a third time at the end of the time loop (rather than cross-temporal memory) could be non-diegetic knowledge; when everyone turns their heads back towards Ruby after interacting with the woman, the shots are angled so that they look directly into the camera—this could imply that rather than looking at Ruby, they're looking at the audience, and therefore becoming aware that they are not real. Pushing it further, Ruby is the camera (or more metaphorically, the perspective character). And finally, when Ruby fulfils the timeline and dies, the shot at the end of the episode becomes from the perspective of Ruby as the woman, and so interacting with the woman could be likened also to interacting with a camera, thus breaking the Fourth Wall. This idea of the woman as camera is supported by the insinuation in the same section that the woman follows Ruby as a kind of "life flashing before one's eyes" event at the end of Ruby's life—she is an Observer, an objective observer of her own life, existing outside of the narrative.

Ruby mentioned to Kate that there were some things that she just knew about the woman, like that she/Ruby would die if she attempted to separate them by boarding a boat. This was linked to the idea of the woman as being/having a perception filter, like the TARDIS, which made her perpetually indistinct. Breaking the perception filter fills someone with the knowledge that they are not real. The people constantly say "Ask her" because as one of the protagonists, the world actually revolves around Ruby. I imagine one would feel a lot of resentment at having one's doubts at one's cosmic significance confirmed, and then being able to put a face to someone to whom some of the blame for your cosmically insignificant existence could be assigned. Of course, Ruby initially believes that "Ask her" refers to the woman, but the woman is Ruby. So in either case, the "her" refers to Ruby; and the ambiguity is deliberate, both because of the reveal that Ruby is the woman and because the statement is so accusatory that it could mean "Ask the woman" (and therefore break the Fourth Wall yourself) or "Ask Ruby" (who is the protagonist and somewhat to blame for everyone else being side characters or background characters).

#doctor who #doctor who spoilers #fifteenth doctor #73 yards

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sleepy-fiction · 16 days ago

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Adam Warlock x Reader.

NEMESIS AND I. 🏆 NSFW

syn: at galacta's inter-faction New Years party, you run into your mortal enemy, a new member of the guardians called Adam Warlock. and after some interpersonal battles, you allow yourself to fall into his charm, and he to yours. TLDR; mini slow burn where u hate Adam and then u fuck him

tgs: breeding kink, cunnilingus (fem r), fingering, masturbation, p n v, creampies, power play, bdsm, slowburn, soft dom adam, fem villian reader, inappriopriate use of adam's soul bonding ability (sex), a lot of shit goes on in this fic my mind is blanking, oh and u kiss bucky too idk

an: it's finally done.... after five days.... BARELY PROOFREAD

13.3K WORDS

Galacta's New Years parties were the hit of century. Everyone always attended, from villians to heros, it was the one sanction of peace in the universe. On the month following and prior to the party, a ceasefire commended the rare seasons when paths crossed. And any who disobeyed such rules, or worse started an issue at the party, would have thr face the wraith of both their faction's and the enemies. And yet again, Galacta's cosmic rager was started up again, only this time, an abandoned space station outside the Milkway was chosen to be this year's host.

Preparations were going smoothly on her in, as she fixed the place up well. Strobe lights, lazers, performers from across the galaxies flew out to attend, so it only made sense for you, and a few other villians to attend this year. By now, youd be terrorizing the galaxy, setting flame, birthing to chaos, destroying (or getting destroyed by) the guardians of the galaxy.

But for once, it was good to set a difference pace.

That's why you went all out on the night of the party. You wore your sexiest dress, paired with the slutiest heels imaginable. The combination a far cry from the violent and downright unapproachable nature you dressed yourself in. Though it wasn't your villian name, you wanted everyone to know that the Duchess of Galaxies had arrived.

Your space shuttle pulled into the station, as you slipped out into the airlock, feeling gravity return to your feet. You adjusted your top and breasts, checking your makeup one final time before the grand iron doors opened, and thr flooding of deep techno rave beats filtered in through the noise.

You smiled and shuddered, "the purr of chaos," whispering nothings into the air.

You were gonna get laid tonight.

But by who?

You passed through the final automatic door before you reached the inside. The lights were shut off, leading you into a world of bleeding LEDs and flashing neon lights. You recognized some familar faces as you passed by the dance floor. Of course, Sue Storm and Reed, finding their rhythm as they grinded against eachother. It made you scoff, but still, you shouted as you crossed them, "Don't hurt her now, Reed," winking.

"Ha-Ha! Enjoy yourself, Empress," Reed called back.

You slithered down to the drink bar, where lines of sofas and tables adoring the space. Along the far corners was a bar. And despite being off the crowded dance floor, this place was almost equally as flooded. That was the appeal of Galacta's New Year's. Alive and crawling with bugs.

Speaking of, as you pranched to the bar, blowing your kisses, and greeting friends, you stepped on something. "Y-owch," it suddenly yelped, it's voice like gravel.

In confusion, you whipped your head down, finding the kne and only Rocket Raccoon. Still, you didn't liff your foot, and the little creature pulled at it frantically. "Oooh. My, if it isn't Rocket Raccoon," you snarled as you lifted your foot. He stumbled back with a deadly growl. "I didn't know Galacta allowed pets in here," you snickered.

"What the fuck did you just say? Huh (y/n)? You wanna fucking go," he barked throwing up his puny fists.

It's then that you notice Peter Quill and his sister Mantis scurry on over.

You gasp dramatically, "Picking a Fight? At Galacta's New Years?" You spoke loud, purposely drawing the attention of others.

Rocket grits his teeth as he booms, "Hell yeah I'll fucking show this party the best facking fight its ever seen--" Before he could finish, Peter arrives to the scene, grabbing the Raccoon by its scruff.

"Hey- No, no, no. There will be no fighting," The Starlord huffs, turning away from you to whisper dead at the Raccoon, "I'm not missing out on another year, got it?"

It's then you glanced over to Mantis, her eyes narrowed on you, her fists clenched in anger. You quirk, raising a brow as you drop a deviously finger against your lip. "Oh? Cat's got your tongue," you speak.

Mantis flattens her top lip, hissing, "You should have never did that to Planet Yulean! Think about the Yuppies that got hurt!"

"I couldn't care less about Yuppies, they were hoarding fuel," you roll your eyes. "But they're dead now, aren't they?" You grin, staring her dead in her eyes.

Mantis shouts, "You monster! I swear. When we get outta' here I'll teach you a good lesson on-- On.... One everything!"

It's then a golden hand that flies between the two of you, and your eyes flicker up to see him. Adam Warlock. One of the new generations of the guardians. He was simple, plain, and easy to overlook, at least in personality. The two of you were fairly netural about each other, as you couldn't really get under his skin. You didn't know him, and you really couldn't figure him out. He seemed so weirdly honest that you were drawn away from him.

Appearance wise, you could easily admit how handsome he was. Definitely better eye candy than the squirrel, depressed oldest, and drax, that pulled down the looks on the team. Well, at least the old team. In all honesty, you hated the change. You hated how the guardians were moving ahead, you hated how you seemed to lack and fall behind in importance to them. Most of them split up and left, leaving behind these strange imposter's you didn't know.

Maybe that's why you were so off out by Adam. He was a symbol. A symbol of how you were now of the past. A symbol of change.

You immediately got irritated at his presence.

He spoke, "Now. Let's not start fights here. This is a netural setting on netural grounds. Although you are not physically fighting, Empress, you are starting a lot of them."

Mantis smiled, softly patting his arm. She says, "Thank you, Adam." And he grins joyfully. Mantis spares you one dirty look before turning away.

You seemed to burn with rage at the little gesture. You spit, "Ah-huh, You think you can talk to me, Tinman?"

He chimes, "No it's Adam. Adam Warlock."

Your eye twitched. You weren't stupid. "Yeah, uh'huh. Why dont you make yourself useful and go fetch me a scotch, robot," You wave your hand at him, dismissing him. He seems to stare at you, his eyebrows furrowing, before he simply walks away. His back slinking off into the dense crowd. You stood there a second, taking a breathy huff.

Now you were alone.

Good riddance.

You sigh, finding a spot on one of the sofas, leaning your head back against the back of it. Behind you, you heard the (usually) tantalizing sound of liplocking, but now it brought you nothing but rage. No one deserved to be happy but you.

How could you ever be when you were fading away. Not only were you no longer considered a priority, or barely even a threat by your nenemies, they were moving on. They were growing, no longer in fear of your threat to the galaxy. Thanos really reset the memter, especially after he took so much of your land from beneath. Fighting against him damaged you. You were weaker, insignificant.

You and many other villians.

Your eyes dotted across the room, watching as Captain America mingled with Miss Marvel and Cloak and Dagger. Your eyes honed in on them in disgust. They smiled and chatted away, laughing tenderly as if things were funny, exhanging looks, and glances at familiar friends and familiar faces. These heros always got what they wanted. They always get it in the end.

Then you glance over at Loki. The God of stories sits at the far end of the bar, drinking alone, lost in thought. Just as you were. All alone, all in thought. For the more sane villians, it was harder to "fit in", not that you wanted to, but still. Unless you were mindless and brainroted, seeking endless bloodshed with no sanction, you were alienated. That's the one understanding that kept you with a decent-ish relationship with the god. Sane villians who want power yet aren't respected.

In the end, it seems all us villains drift away. Your eyes sadly glance away from his cloaked back.

No fair. No fair when--

"Mmh-- haa," the couple behind you moaned. Your fists clenched tightly. Your magic swelled in your palms, burning hot to the touch.

"Fuck, not here," you heard the other one whisper. Inconsiderate fucks. You glanced behind you, watching the two blue skinned aliens swap spit. They weren't even heros or villians, just random rich folk who got in with connections or status. It only ticked you off even more.

No one should be happy.

Nothing about this was happy.

You whisper, "No one should be allowed to be happy but me." You spat out the last word, your whisper underneath your breath. Your palm burns, and without thinking, you shoot out magic. Wih a buzz, you shoot a shadow beam that curves backward, zipping through the dark, before it sneakily hits the champagne glass the couple held.

A splah rippled behind you. "Ah-- Shit! My shirt! Ugh! This was expensive," you heard one yell as they stood up abruptly, storming off to god knows where.

You smile, feeling the sofa shift as the other rushed off after them. "Hey! Wait," it's pitiful voice soon drowned out by the lull of techno. Your eyes dust close with ecstasy as you turn on the couch, laying your back against it and spreading your legs wide in the new room you gained. You rested your arms out against the back of the couch.

God, what were you even thinking before? It was too good to be you! You shut your eyes, rolling your head back with a soft groan.

"Your scotch, Empress," you suddenly heard Adam's voice before you.

What the fuck?

In disbelief, your eyes blank open, your head shooting up right. To your surprise, this wasn't a figment. Before you was the golden boy, Adam Warlock. He stood tall, his golden hair slip back, gorgeously complimenting the new suit he wore for the occasion. His golden light was a Stark contract to the neon-hellscape, the yellow and red almost comforting to the eyes. He held two glasses of scotch in hand, blinking at you, staring simply through lpng, frail, golden eyelashes.

"What?" You spat.

Adam looks off to the dance floor, lulling out, "You asked for a scotch, ma'am."

You were kidding.

You were making fun of him. Why the fuck did he actually get it?

Your eyes flicker to the whisky. It was served in a refreshing glass with a lemon slice, a straw, and a thick ice cube. You swallow, mouth parched and dry. You blink once. You suppose you'll enjoy it. You reach for it, but your fingers hesitate just before your fingertips brush the cold surface. Adam doesn't wait. He meets you halfway, pushing the glass into your hands, brushing his golden fingers under the pads of your fingertips before letting go. The scotch fits well in your hands.

You pull it into you, staring at it more quietly. He's the first to ever shut you up, huh. You feel the sofa sink next to you. When you glance, the Warlock is sitting beside you, not looking at you, as if to spare you the embarrassment, as he takes a sip. "Mmh," he hums, a smile dotting his face.

You quirk oddly, "You like it?"

He finally looks over at you, and you can clearly see the engravings of symbols on his golden face. "Yes, Scotch Whisky is good," he says. His voice is soothing, and it's deep and thoughtful. His jawline was perfect, strong, and dashing. He was truly sublime. Even you were taken aback. He speaks again, "Whisky is always good."

You take a sip, never taking your eyes off him. He's quite large too, broad shoulders with a small waist. You were almost jealous.

Your eyebrows twitch in annoyance. "Why are you doing this," you huff. You cut to the chase.

He awkwardly looks away. "I don't know much about you. And... This is my first party," he huffs shyly, his eyes meeting yours again. He doesn't break eye contact. Not even as he goes for another innocent sip.

"Ah-ha... Well. Do you know that I colonize and conquer planets for my bidding," you speak. Your eyes sharpen, your smile devilish and tight.

He winces, shaking his head. "Oh boy, trust I know," he sighs. "Dangerous stuff, you know. If you cross the wrong person, they'll be gunning for you," he speaks as if he knows that life, it irriates you worse, "It's never too late to call it quits," he continues.

You stand with a start, throwing a finger at his face, "So that's what you want from me! You're trying to turn me good, huh? Haha! How pitiful. One bland scotch isn't going to change me." You take a swing, hapzardly tossing the glass as you stare down at him. "You heros think you're so above all of us. All of everything. As if you get us all, standing up on your righteous throne."

His jaw slacks. He's about to speak, probably to sprout some more hero bullshit to you. No way that'll happen. You sway, pouncing before he can make one more move. You slide into his lap, pulling your hair away from your neck and leaning in close. Your perfume lingers on him. His thighs are a strong and steady support to you. Your knees rested on the soft sofa.

He flinches in surprise, his breath catching and then blowing against your neck.

You drag the side of your nail down his cheek, tracking your finger with your eyes before pinching his chin, pulling it down to part his mouth. You whisper seductively, "I'm rotten. I'm boundless and endless, ruler all of all, and nothing all at once. And I will return to terrorize you and your little gang again. And again. So you'll never forget me," you hush, so close that your breath mingled together.

You can hear and feel his panting against you, his chest rising and falling. "I'll haunt you forever. I'll dig myself beneath that golden skin. You'll be awake at night, trembling in fear of the mighty Empress of Galaxies," you hiss spitefully.

His eyes flicker between your features, mouth agape with a shaky breath. He's so still afraid to even move a centimeter. Either that or ill prepared. Your eyes narrow down on the etchings on his perfect, golden face.

"Mmh," a pleased sigh escaped you, "You're mighty handsome," you whisper, dragging your hand down his neck and to his chest. "I'll eat you for lunch," you grin.

He finally, finally, says something after a deep pause, "Y-You like me? You like me in that way?"

Your eyebrows furrow. You hiss, "Of course not. I'm fucking with you." You lean back away from his face, disbelief ans disgust in your eyes.

His hands slither around your hips, his eyes flickering. He gazes deep into your eyes. It lnly makes you tense up, your disgust brewing into bewilderment. Did he not listen to any of what you said? Or was he doing this on purpose?

"You like me? Is this what you're doing? Is this how you flirt? Have you done this with Quill, too," he asks. His face is blank, his tone is inquisitive.

Your face heats with humiliation, you lean back more, still held in place by his hands. You bark, "Of course not! He's! He's unattractive, to say the least."

He gasps quietly and the grins, "So I am?"

You sputter, "Yes? I already-- I already established that. I'm teasing you, Adam. This isn't real." You fold your arms and look away.

"Aah," he nods. You refuse to look. "Your dress is stunning. You have a great sense of fashion... You are definitely one of the best dressed here," he reaches and tugs on your jewelry, and that's what gets you to finally look at him. He speaks, "You have a beautiful style."

Your eyebrows furrow deeply, eyes flickering back between each of his features, searching for an answer. Was he? Fucking with you now? How fucking dare he.

You dawned a plastic smile, accompanied by a passive-agressive hum. You slid your hand from up his chest and to his neck. You lean into his ear and whisper, "I wonder what'd be like to melt you back into pure gold," your hand tightens around it, "I wonder if you'll finally learn to shut up." Your magic swells in your palm, and he can feel it against his neck. He gulps quietly.

For some reason, you can't bring yourself to peer out of his neck at first. You feel nothing but irration, nothing but the desire to squash this little bug and move on with your life. But also, a slight humilation kept you from looking at him. He was running circles around you. You feel the large, strong hands around your hips quiver, and you feel him half harden beneath you.

You jolt at the feeling.

"A-Ah... Melt me? O-Oh," he whispers, swallowing thickly.

You slip out of his neck with disbelief. He thinks this is real.

He continues, "W-Well. If you melt me, I don't think I'd be quite useful for my team. In fact, w-what I'm saying is that there could be other ways in which one could... Uh." He stops his rambling as he stares into your eyes. You're looking at him blankly. He only seems to clam up more.

Power spurs in your belly. You slowly, slowly, creep on a villainous smile. Oh yeah, you were gonna fuck with this.

He sighs and looks away, "Well. What I mean is--" You crash your lips against his, cupping the sides of his golden cheeks in your hands. He hums dutifully into it, melting and rocking his head forward to take over this kiss. His left hand raises from your hip to stroke up and down your back, reassuring and worshiping all at once. It then slides to your shoulder, as he wrosd his thumb around it, and beds his fingers around you, his knuckles facing away, his forearm against your skin.

You run circles around him now. He's a horrible kisser, yet he's trying to take the lead. His tongue laps awkwardly out of tune, and his teeth crash into yours. Was he really this inexperienced? It makes you chuckle. He surely has the passion. Your hands slip up to the back of his head, holding it as you pull apart and start anew. Only this time, the both of you keep your eyes open, staring, and letting you guide him into how to kiss.

He finds your rhythm, slurping you up, molding his lips against yours. Ever so diligent, ever so studious. He pulls apart to breath, and the two of you take this short intermission to stare oddly, contently into eachother’s eyes. He pulls your body in, you curve into him with a deadly giggle, and he takes the lead with his new knowledge.

You don't have to tell him twice.

That was fun, at least.

Your heart starts to race, your mind dabbling into dangerous places. You'll fuck him, split up the team from the inside, and then they'll never forget you. Yeah.

Adam sucks your tongue into his mouth before pulling out of the kiss. He licks up your lips, before catching your bottom lip in-between his teeth. You moan, spine-shuddering in excitement. He was too quick of a learner.

Your head buzzed in desire. You moan, "Ah- fuck." Then he releases your lip, dragging off of it painfully slow. It bounced back into place, all juicy and wet from his mouth. Your lipstick smearing on him. Your eyes lid. Maybe. Maybe just a little bit of him was driving you crazy.

Only a little.

He'd make for a fun toy.

One of his hands slides back to cup your ribcage, it fits swell in his palm. He moves you like a weightless doll back into his inquisitive mouth, swapping your spits, dragging his tongue up the roof of your mouth. Your tongue laps the beneath of his while he does so, but then he turns his head completely to dive in deep. Your hand falls, grabbing tight chunks of his suit. A whimper flies out of you.

Your tongues meet again, burdened with passionate fire, frictioned and brisk, lips brushing, growing redder, and plump. He's calm and calculated, at first slipping into your rhythm just to test it out and learn. To gain more of a human experience. Then, it bubbles into desire, a feeling he's not very sure with, then it turns competitive. He wants to turn you on too.

He's overpowering you fast, he doesn't need to take breaths as much as you do, and he's taking advantage of that. As you pull away to breath, you only get a mere second before he's suffocating you again with pretty, golden lips. So much so that you've begun to time your breathe, but, the strategist he is, he's even quicker to notice your pattern and sabotage it too.

You slam on his chest and forcefully pull away from him, leaning over the side of his lap a bit to heave and pant. Blood is brewing in your face and pussy, you can feel your clit swelling. You really couldn't breathe, you didn't know that feeling had such an effect on you. He didn't give you anytime to think. You knew it as an irriation, something you couldn't figure out. Adam knew it as your weakness, your head clouds you from reality.

He's just as smart as you. He knew greater than you that no villian would simply climb into his lap just to "fuck around". A part of you liked him. You just couldn't admit it.

As you pant, he cups the side of your face with his hands, your hair folding against his fingertips. He was admiring you with a soft smile and relaxed posture. The weakness. It made you want to curl up. You shut your eyes tight, trying to gain some energy to stand up, or brew up some sort of curse on him.

Adam's hand slips down, his thumb running over your kiss-bruised lips. You moan and mumble in discomfort. Your head meekly drops into his hand, and he can feel just how hot your forehead was on his palm.

He mutters, "You're thinking too much, Empress... You pick and choose your battles... Maybe... This should not be one..."

Your fists clench tightly. "Why do you talk as if you know me," you spoke. You try to bite back with force, but it comes off so weak. So sensitive, so vulnerable. The Empress was never vulnerable or soft with anyone.

The Empress ruled with a heavy hand, always in control, always in power. Always. Always...

Adam speaks, "Maybe I do."

You look up, glossy eyes finding his. This was a problem. You stand up, using his shoulders as support as you did so. "If you'll excuse me," you huff, face falling blank. You slink off into the dance floor, your usual strut more of a wobble, as you felt how disgustingly wet you were. It made your underwear so uncomfortable, not to forget how your aching clit commanded your knees to soften like jello.

Your neck was hot, your head was heavy. Your feet ached from the heels. You tried to dance in the tight hubub, as arms brushed against yours, as backs were dear to your body. But all you could do is think. Think about how wet you were.

"You think too much," Adam's voice appears in your head.

You hiss.

As if he knew you. You don't think enough. The beat flowed into a slow, sensual song as you released tension from your body with a huff. You slid your hands down your chest, cupping your breasts before sliding them down your stomach. You rose then high into the air afterward, trying to get into the groove, as you swayed your hips to the beat.

You heard the crowd shift behind you, feeling a presence on the custs of your back. They were close, whoever it was, as you lost yourself to the rhythm, eyes shut with your worries behind you. You felt large hands ghosts your hips. You reached down and pressed them down against you, feeling the smooth fingers curve around your hips in a secure vice. You moaned out a chuckle. You felt the stranger pull you into him, meeting you halfway as your bodies connected.

Your back laid against a sturdy, hard chest. You leaned your head back against it with a pleased hum, feeling their crotch brush against your butt. The heat, the pressure, the friction was cathartic. You almost forgot why you came here in the first place. You leaned forward, dropping your hands on your knees grinded against the stranger. You felt them lay a steady palm on the center of your middle back, the other hand sliding to old the side of your ass.

The touch.

Your brain flickered.

You know who it is. No- You knew.

But you kept your eyes closed vice. You didn't want to think about it. You couldn't do with the stress right now.

Maybe Warlock was right. Maybe you do think to much.

His hot rod was hardening beneath your quick, strategic ebbs and flows, your body moving in a addictive, rhythmic wave. The hand slid up and cupped and cupped your shoulder, it was cold and metallic to the touch. Warlock. You shuddered and mewled, pleasure erupting deep within you. You leaned back up into Adam, pressing your back against his strong chest again.

You reached up to cup his cheek, mewling out, "Warlock," as you look to admire him.

hello this next part of thr fic is rushed because I wrote it out the first time and it didn't save so..... but trust the og was juicy.

His long black hair, dewy peach skin and-- Your eyes hardened. Metal mask? You flung off him in an instant, in the process bumping into someone else. You steadied yourself and stared wildly at the man-- who wasn't Warlock.

You stared at a tall miscuksr man with long black hair bluntly cut at the shoulders, his skin fair and leach, a metal mask clamped over his mouth, accompanied by a cool metal arm. You recognized him immediately. "B-Bucky Barns," you stammer out, your eyes wide and frantic.

He stood tensely in place, his arms pulled up harmlessly, his face flushed in deep humilation. "Warlock," he squeaks out, but quickly covers his humilation with a gruff. He's just staring at you, not quite processing what was happening yet.

Your face grows deadly hot, your body tensed up. You nod simply, fleeing from his stare as you speak, "Sorry... I-I thought Adam followed me from the dance floor." Your tone was weak, barely surviving over the loud music.

Bucky's eyebrows quirked in surprise, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. It was rare to see The Empress blubbering. You were always so poised.

Winter Soldier spoke, "Aah. No, I've been watching you dance... I've been watching it for a while so," he blanks, looking away, "I-I thought you saw me approach you." He's quiet the slient type, you're aware. You never would of guessed he had taken an interest in you.

You knew of the Winter Soldier. You've seen him in here in at Galacta's every year almost. You've even once shared a drink, but that was maybe four or so years ago. You never had a real interaction. He had taken an interest in you? It was certainly flattering.

Bucky's brows pinch as he shakes his head in disbelief. "Adam Warlock?" He repeats, but this time it's framed as a deadly question. His tone is drowning in petty confusion. He spits the name as if it were a juvenile stain on your crest. You pale. But he continues, "Like The Guardian, Adam Warlock?"

He spoke as if the name was beneath you.

Truthfully, he was right.

Adam Warlock was beneath you.

At least to your Empress Persona.

Adam Warlock wasn't someone "The Empress" took after. No, in all honesty, someone like the Winter Soldier was perfect for you. He was quiet, filled with a powerful prowess mixed undeniable raw strength. Only such a cold and calculated powerhouse could be a perfect fit for the power-hungry, illustrious Empress. Meanwhile, Adam Warlock is soft and kind. The Empress isn't.

Humilation stung you. Your head felt so heavy. You sighed, pinching your temples, "I won't tell a soul about this if you won't." You shut your eyes tight, praying this all would fade away.

You failed to see the disappointment that flickered through his eyes. He still spoke, "Deal."

You quietly slipped past him. He watched you leave. Your head fell low, your arm suddenly felt cold and forlorn. You stepped off the dancefloor. Shame seemed to sting at every corner.

You were impossibly fond of Adam Warlock.

You were so vulnerable with a stranger. You embarrassed yourself again and again.

You found your way back to the sofa you saw Adam last and was instead greeted by the scorching sight of Captain, Stark, and Thor. They sat snugly like old chums, laughing loud, beaming with endless joy.

You clench your fist.

You glanced around the bar, searching for even the smallest flicker of gold. Luckily, you caught sight of glimmering gold, just behind a crowd of villains you didn't care about. You pushed through them and soon found your Adam, sat at the end of the bar top in between... Hela and Loki?

What.

Your palms burned with fury.

What did they even have in common?

Hela's face was slightly softened, as she peered down at him between upturned eyes. Loki was perched forward, chin resting in his palm as a pleasant, thin lipped smile grew on his face. Both of which had their whole bodies turned to face him. Adam sat in thr middle of them, talking with his hands as he shared some story. The light from the ceiling glowed down upon him, making him twinkle and shimmer in contrast.

You felt.

Bitterly insecure.

So he just talked to villains then, huh? You weren't special at all. You were easily replaced by two other washed-up phonies. You were friendly with both, but still. It stung.

But at the same time. You couldn't look away. Not from the air of pleasure that dimmed from the three of them, how entranced they seemed just by catching sight of Adam. You found yourself grouped up and frozen, just like them.

Adam really was...

Really charming. He naturally lowered people's guards, naturally brought them in, and captured them there. It made sense. He was pure gold, who wouldn't be called in. Your heart ached pitifully.

He was funny and witty. He was a true jewel.

You could easily see why his team valued him so much. He was unique.

He was precious. Not in a juvenile way, but a way that highlighted how lucrative and luxurious he was.

Your eyes trace down his red cape, his slicked back hair, those golden palms. How he was a direct contrast to the neon life, to the blur of black and green that sat next to him. He was glowing.

Hela reaches and lays a hand on Adam's shoulder, he turns to her as she speaks.

Your eyes softened.

You really think too much.

You were still The Empress, you couldn't forget that.

With a deep breath, you correct your posture, strutting on over. You get in close, reaching a hand to cup Loki's waist, the other squeezing Hela's nailed hands, leaning in close on Loki's back. You do this all at once as you slyly hush, "Hello, lovelies," eyes lidded as you stare at Adam, and Adam only.

He flinches, staring at you with a slack jaw. Loki doesn't budge at all, and pleased hum mixing from him, "Hello darling." He reaches back to briefly pat the back of your head.

Hela's eyes narrow down on you intently, eyebrows raising in delight. She slips her hand back into her lap, humming, "My Empress." A pleasure to have Hela's approval.

You pull back, moving to Loki's side as you drop your palms on the table. You speak, "May I borrow your little jewel for a while?" Your eyes soften down on him. You were displaying open affection to him? Adam's eyebrows pinch together, a soft smile glittering across his face. He leans back.

"By all means," Hela says.

"Ooh, but we were just having fun," Loki pouts, drunkenly sloshing his head about.

"He can play god-sitter another time," You say.

Adam awkwardly looks between the three of you.

That's when another steps to the group, laying big and heavy hands on Adam's shoulders. You flicker on over to them, seeing Thor standing just behind him. Thor asks, "Does the dear lad get a say on anything?"

You all seem to cackle, "No."

Loki groans, turning his whole body away from Thor as Adam stands. "Ugh, hurry ans escape while you still can," Loki slurs. Adam chuckles, almost rushing towards you as you lean up, raising your hands to be taken by him.

He grabs them fondly, pulling you along through the party, barely missing the bickering that erupted behind you two.

Adam pulled you off into a long winding hallway, that was, essentially, the bridge between the party and the shuttle board. The hallway was lined with large rounded windows on the right side, a grand observatory to view this side of the universe. Stars sprinkled endlessly, galaxies entertwining, glowing their saturated colors. The two of you sighed at the sight.

"No matter the faction... This sight is home," you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder as you walked.

He hums deeply, nodding with a breathless sigh. "I couldn't agree more. When I learned to fly this was all I ever wanted to see," he hums.

"Earthlings don't understand it," you snicker.

He chuckles, glancing down at you. "You're enjoying yourself, Empress," he says. His free hand cups your cheek, running a thumb underneath your eye.

He's warm and smooth to the touch, you're not sure at all how you mistaked him for Winter Soldier.

You spoke, "Well of course. I have successfully pried you away from two duplicates of me."

He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. He nods, "You have."

You continue, "And now, you will take me to your ship."

He freezes, "Oh wait... Groot's in there."

You groan bitterly. You pull away from Adam and lean against the windows, kicking one of your legs back, a sly look on your face. "Then," your tone is deadly, "You will please me here. Whilst I count the stars I have yet to conquer." You glance off to the window.

Adam walks over quietly, your heart rate spikes. He grabs your hips securely, not hesitating for a second. You perk your ass out for him, and he meets you half-way, pressing his body flat against your. You moan, eyes already rolling to the back of your head. His crotch kisses your ass, the friction and warmth mind blowing as he wraps his arms around you, wrapping you up in his readcape, pulling you off the window and into him. Your hands meekly fall into this cloak.

"No," he hushes. His voice is deep and sweet in your ear.

"No," you scoffs.

"Not here," he leans and kisses your ear. His breath is hot, his lips are firm and soft. He's holding you plainly, cutely, you can't even get mad, you feel comfortable here. Your eyes lid, as you stare off into the galaxies.

"Why not," you whine.

He speaks, "I don't want to get caught."

You snicker, "Not a exhibitionist, I see?"

He sighs contently, looking up to stare off at the stars with you. "I still am a guardian. I must behave accordingly, especially in public. Many look up to me... And... I don't think I'm ready..." the last part hushes out, quick and fast, drowning in insecurity.

"Ugh," you roll your eyes playfully. But it didn't go unnoticed by you.

He snickers, "Some of us have rules and are not succumb to mindless chaos." Direct jab.

"I'll send you to hell," you hiss. He laughs heartily.

One last time, Adam sinks into you, taking in your scent, squeezing you tight, savoring your warmth, before he pulls away from you. You knew it was bound to happen, so you stare in contentment, counting stars. He whispers an intergalactic coordinate in your ear along with a date, you hum appeased.

"Until we meet again, nemesis."

"Au revoir."

A week from now, huh.

You can wait.

🏆🌟.

There you were, week later, in the den of your enemy, Guardian's ship. Warlock had you pinned. You found your back against the Starlord's old seat, your hands trapped on his broad chest, as his hands were locked on the chair on each side of you, his tongue half way down your throat.

Adam made up some lie about him taking the ship off to maintenance while he brought and paid for the rest of the team's vacation on a tropical tourist planet. He did take it for maintenance (and a deep cleaning), just needed to show it off to you.

Everything about this was so dangerous. He brought the ship into your large, monstrous space port, docking inside. You had the total upper hand here. You could draw in your shadow creatures in minutes, overpowering him and destroying the ship. He knew he was playing with fire. He knew it was wrong. But still, he lapped and sucked away.

The kiss was passionate from the jump, and eager awaited hands crawled up and searched eachothers bodies, stroking needy touches, groping, and groaning. Adam himself came into this event with his brain already shut off, falling to the will of his senses without question, something he rarely got to explore. Meanwhile, you were glad not to be in control, to not be cautious, at will to his every motion.

Your lips crashed in a rushed, passionate frenzy, your lips bruising already under him, as he dragged his hands from the chair to your sweet hips, pulling them flush into him, he loved the feeling, squeezing the flesh there was his life line. He popped out of your kiss with a dazed expression, you strayed out a swell moan.

You ran your hands up his neck and cupped the sides of his golden face. His cheeks were warm, and he curved into the touch and puckered a sweet kiss into your palm. His hair was down, floating above his shoulders as you twirled it in your freehand's fingers, giggling giddy at his affections. You wee becoming dangerously fond of him.

But as you stare at those yellow scleras, you stop caring.

When you were together, you vowed to just be (y/n) and Adam.

"Empress," he whines. But he likes the nickname.

You sigh, "Warlock?"

"Follow me to bed," he leans in, burying his face into the side of your head, "I want to hold you."

"Alright, alright," you hum. Adam pulls away, grabbing you by your hand and pulling you off with him. The ship has had some several upgrades since the last time you sliced it in half. It now had a lower and upper wing, the upper, having designated bedrooms for each of the crew. And after noise complaints, it was maintained today to be soundproof.

Adam pulls you into his. It's befittingly decorated with gold and red drapes, the occasion grey or black charcoal painting dotting the white and metal walls. His bed was a king's, with plush red duvet and fluffy ruby pillows. He sits down on it. You stand between his legs, throwing your hands around his neck. He grips your hips again.

You sigh in content. "You please me, Adam Warlock," you whisper.

"What a great honor," he sinks those hands around your back and flops backward with you, unearthing giggles ans chuckles on the way down.

You lay your head down next to his neck, spreading your arms about his head. Your right hand glides through his hair. His large, warm hands spread up your back, feeling your breasts against his chest.

There's this unyielding warmth here, fracturing through your joint bodies, radiance of affection burling through it all. His hand smooths down your back and to your ass, he cups them in both hands. You stiffen and look at him, raising a judgemental brow. He laughs, lidding his eyes and sputtering before going quiet. Since he's made of gold, you figure he can't really flush. You drag your hand down his cheek.

You prop yourself up with your left, using your right to pull down his lip. The inside of his mouth was pink and warm, his tongue pink, his teeth white. You didn't get to see it much, as mostly, you were feeling it out. "You're not gold all the way down," you say as you glaze at his pink mouth.

His brows quirks in confusion, "I am."

You shake your head, "Your month's pink, meaning your organs are too... See... If I were to follow down your throat, you'd be red and bloody... Like any other worthless human," you grin.

"Ooh... Ah... Right," he looks away.

You hook a finger on his bottom teeth, pulling his head back to you. "What? Spit it out," you command.

"Nothing, nothing, Your Highness," he's smoothing circled into your ass.

Your eyes lid, resting your face in your left palm. "I implore you, speak," you drag your middle finger up the bridge of his nose. "My tin-man."

His golden lashes flutter, his bright scleras glowing an honest yellow. He stammers, "I thought you were asking... You know... All the way down, if I were gold."

You blink, "Yes. I did. I am."

"Ah, I am then," he nods.

You quirk, "But you're not. You're pink."

"I can show you," he whispers quietly.

"Alright," you hum.

He gives you one final, tart squeeze before you slide off him, rolling onto your side as he sits criss cross on the bed. Immediately, he begins to unbuckle his metal belt, and you jolt upright in surprise. You get it now. "Oh- oh I," but it's too late for you to interupt. As within seconds, Adam had fished himself out of his grey-black suit pants, his penis slowly hardening under your stare.

Just as described, he was golden. His rod was still mostly soft, his size seemed unclear, but he was uncircumcised, his foreskin was a shining, glittering gold. It was pure, dancing with soft sparkles of different shades of gold. "Oh, my," you whisper, leaning forward for a better look, and laying your hand on his forearm.

He flinched a little, he hardened more. Was this his way of initiating sex? Your eyebrows pierced as you gazed up at him, his breath was caught, lips persed together, shy gaze being thrown back at you. You blinked. He could have easily carried the situation into something further at the cockpit, you were needy then. All he did was kiss you how he did before. Now he had you in his room, and now he's flashing himself.

He's hardening more.

You continue to stare with an unreadable expression into his eyes. Adam's face tenses more, teeth baring in braced anticipation.

Was he?

"Are you a virgin," you asked. It's more of a statement than anything.

He seems to clam up more, "I-I... I uh..."

"My, so there are things you can't do," you grin devilishly. You press your hands against his chest, pushing him to lay back on the bed. His cape spreads out on the sheets, his hair spread away from his face. "You're shy, aren't you? Ah, is that why you denied me at the party? Because you are a shy virgin? Or, are you truly not ready for sex?"

You rest a hand on his thigh.

His head was spinning, he tried to prop himself up onto his elbows to get a good look at you inbetween his legs, but you rose forward and pushed him back again. He bounced back on the bed with an anxious gasp. Your head tilted, "I need an answer," you pinned him down beneath you, slowly rising to gaze up at his face, trying to bring the tension away from his most sensitive part, and towards his face.

He laughs awkwardly. You blink.

"Ooh," he starts. "M-myeah... Yes, I am what one would call a virgin... Not particularly shy about it. Haha... Not at all." He's cracking again.

You smile. It was a soft and amused one, not the face splitting grin you usually bore. "Adam Warlock doesn't always have everything in control either... But he pretends to," you reach and stroke the side of his face with your hand. He squeaks, his eyes trying to hide behind his lashes, his hips swelling forward to the speed of your caressing.

He shuts his eyes tight again, drawing a breath and relaxing back into the sheets as you move your hand.

"Adam," you whisper.

He peeks up at you, "Yes?"

"Let's kiss," you grab his chin.

"Ah," Adam dives into your lips again. You have the upper hand as you turn your head to deepen it, but still, you're steady and secure, setting the pace for a slow kiss. You explore his pink mouth, licking his cheeks and teeth, meeting his tongue to carress and twirl around with it. You feel Adam's hand raise and rest on your back as you move to straddle him, hovering just over his waist, not resting on him yet.

You drive your hands down his bare, golden chest, he mutters into the kiss, but his tongue swallows it up as it chases after yours. He's good at kissing, so you start there. Not reaching past what you haven't done with him before. He's still mostly letting you take over, he's not lit with the zealous fire like before.

You were so confused. You pulled out of his lips, hearing him shudder and huff. You rest your forehead against his, peering into his eyes, he avoids them, looking away at the paintings on the wall. Your hand slides up to cup his neck. "Are you alright, Adam," your tone is so soft.

"I- uh... I," he doesn't do anything more. You take a slow breath in, annoyance plaguing you. He won't kiss you, but he won't tell you what was wrong. So what does he want? It's annoying. What was the point of you being here then, if he wasn't going to talk to you. Your brows furrow.

If you were doing something wrong. You'd remove yourself the second he says it. And if he wanted you to continue, then you would do so the second he says it. Yet, he says nothing.

He finally, after a bit of silence, (and him noticing how you huffed), looks at you, a guilty expression wrapped on his face. "On Earth, humans have a common saying that... One's first time is sacred and i-irreplaceable... They say that... That you will never forget them... The person and the time," he pauses.

You lean back from him, giving him space, and he watches how your eyes begin to melt. You know where he's going.

He continues with a sigh, "I am still a Guardian... To become this infatuated... And entwined with such a grand enemy wouldn't be... Beneficial or safe for my team... They would never accept it... They would hate to see us..."

Us, Infatuation, entwined.

He really likes you.

His expression is meek, his voice trembling with weakness. That you were, his weakness. And he was rapidly becoming yours at an alarming and uncontrollable pace.

His hand reaches, and he cups one of your breasts affectionately before his hand slides up to your shoulder, in the crook between your shoulder blade and your neck. His hand is large enough to cover all of it. He gives it a tender, secure squeeze. He speaks, "I'm not sure if... If I should do it... It might be better off," you brace yourself, he notices, he retreats, don't go, "Ah... Empress. I make all the wrong choices with you... You've enchanted me."

Your brows quirk. He didn't give you a straight answer. You didn't have time to help him figure it out. You'd leave yourself to vulnerable if he decided in the end, after all of it, all of what you'd give up for him, he decides to settle with his team. Would it be worth it?

You freeze up yourself.

You didn't know.

He continues, unaware of your own mental dilemma, "Here I am... Taking the ship, and parking it in the lion's den... The Starlord'll kill me if he finds out what I've done to his legacy," he laughs, but his eyes are brimming with affection. He reaches for your face, you look away, his hand retreats back to his chest.

Terror.

He blinks.

Without knowing it, he's begun to convince you otherwise. You speak, "One must decide... You must decide... If I am worth the risk. Am I worth the risk, Adam Warlock? By choosing to give me all of you, you will be thrust upon hardships and bliss. One but decide, if the bliss will outweigh the hard, or will the hardships swallow up the little bliss you had in the beginning. I... Tend to destroy everything, especially the good," your fingers trailed up his golden cheeks.

"I will leave you desolate and broken... Your team will forsake you," something flickers in his eyes, "I will corrupt the little goodness, the little sense you have left. Nothing of me is worth it," and is your solemn truth.

You look back into his eyes, your face hardened, only to find, that he's smiling. A soft giggle trails out from his lips. You're heavily annoyed. Your face scrunches up. You're opening up and he's. Hes simply laughing. That's when you sit up, almost moving to leave when he shoots upright and grabs you by the shoulders, giggling, and burying his face into your neck. "Pfft-- I'm sorry," he's still. Still laughing.

Your face burns with frustration. You feel your feelings begin to hurt. "You're humiliating me," your voice is squeaky and strained.

His laugh dies a little in him, "Sorry-- Sorry," the tension is thick and stressful. Is that all he was going to say-- "It's just, (y/n)... I think I've decided now," his breath is airy. You tense up immediately, already glancing up at the door. You're never worth it. You sag already.

He speaks, "Your words really opened my eyes."

Ah, you've gone and ruined it, too. You clench up, grabbing chunks of his cape. Why do you not want this to end? You've merely started.

"And I think you're right," he speaks. Why is he so cruel? Why couldn't he have chosen another set of words. Why does he rub it in your face and not quickly get it over it. Just say it. Say he doesn't like you so you can be gone. A tiny, quiet whimper shivers out of you. He speaks, "There are going to be a lot of hardships moving forward for us."

You blink.

You hissed out, "What?"

He pulls out of your shoulder, looking up at you with delighted eyes. "Ah-- Are you crying?" His hand slinks up to wipe away the tears you didn't know where falling.

It only makes this more humiliating for you. You're not weak. You shake your head, "No. Of course not."

His hand drops back to your shoulder. "Aah, okay, okay," he's amused again.

You only get angrier. "So. What does that mean?"

He doesn't scold you, he doesn't get annoyed, he's not angry. He only smiles, effortlessly sweet, following along with your train of thought, a hum in his throat as he chimes matter-of-factly, "Well. It means... I like... I uh-- I like you. And... Yeah. I like you, (y/n)."

You're drowning in disbelief. "But- You said I... You said my words... My words helped you see, I didn't say anything good about us. I dont... I didn't say anything good about me. Why are you deciding to stay?" You don't know it. But you're sort of pushing an idea that Adam Warlock must be flawed if he ever were to pick you.

That's when he takes offense. Not about himself, but about how you think of yourself.

He sighs out loudly, "(Y/n). That's what I like about you..."

"What? That I am-- That I am evil? That I will hurt you? That I promise," you huff.

He speaks, "Yes." You flinch. "That you are moody and indecisive... You think a lot, you're anxious... That you're an inter-galatic terror, and a domestic one," he strokes your cheek again, his tone is soft and affectionate, "I like you. I like that. I like all of you... I like it. You're fun... You're different."

Your shoulders slowly relax, unaware of how your slowly begin to sit in his lap. He's just staring at you now, all proud of himself. You blink. You blink again. "Ah, that's it?" You ask.

"Yes," he giggles.

"That- That wasn't very romantic," your brows furrow.

He giggles again. Adam cups the back of your head, pulling your face towards him, and meeting your face halfway to kiss you, a soft, gentle peck that was intended to be a long kiss, but was interrupted by his hearty laughter.

You huff, "Hey... Tin-man. You... Say something romantic." You're still pretty tense. With a pouty face and glossy eyes, you look like you're on the verge of crying a thousand times over. But. You gaze at Adam, sat in his lap, reminiscent of before, when you met at the party, and now a week later, still falling again and again for his hurtful charm.

He leans forward, taking your down with him, your head falling against his plush ruby pillows. You look so pretty in his bed like this. His heart's racing, those glossy eyes of yours are ever the sweetest. "Ah, I'm sorry, my Empress... I am lucky to be graced with your presence, and spared from your just wraith from my imprudent behavior. Forgive me, sweetness... Love of my," he freezes.

You freeze too. A thick surge of blood rocketing to your face, eyes buldged out.

"Ahem," he looks away in embarrassment. "M-My sweet Empress," he gulps.

"Mmh... I'll think about forgiving you," you chime.

He giggles again, finally, finally succumbing to your sweet lips.

🏆🌟.

You gasp ans shudder, as Adam takes you down into his red sheet. Your marvelous suit was peeled off you by his large hands, each time, he took a second to take it all in, reveling in the sight of new skin, not touching you once until it was all off, discarded to the side.

Your body was pure heaven, he oggled it down, watching how you posed and store up at him, softly aching your back and chest, trying to accentuate your assets, and like a fly in a fly trap, he fell for the honey hook line and sinker. His cock was spitting up on itself, twitching and shaking, as he took the terrifying task of hovering his hand over your glorious tit, his fingers seeming to shake.

He gulps quietly.

He's going for it.

He's really.

"Adam please take your clothes off," You sigh out, pinching your temples.

His bright scleras shine bright in embarrassment, his teeth clenched tightly. He takes a breath to calm himself before he quietly turns off the side of the bed, dropping his pants ans shedding his giant cape. He crawls back in, lips pursed, eyes still locked on your tits. He sits next to you, legs criss crossed, as he leans his head inquistively forward, tucking hair behind his ear on his left side.

And it is with that same left hand that he reaches... And! And!

Hovers his palm over your tit again. He got as far as he could before he could feel your warmth radiating up against him, his cock throbbing pitifully. He senses a change with you, he looks to your face. Surprisingly, you're not angry, you stare at him blankly and calmly, eye fucking his just as much as he to you.

He was golden all over, down to his cock, to his calves and toes, to the tips of his golden hair. His broad body as stocky as a barn, complimenting a tiny waist, built arms and powerful halves. He was so pleasing to look at, how his golden skin reflected and shined under the light so sweetly. He was hairless downstairs, smooth all down, even from his crotch to his legs. Your eyes flickered to his forearm, which was also hairless. Then they landed back to the shaggy hair at the top his head.

He got lucky.

You giggle.

He sucks up the sound. He finally lays a hand on your boob, gasping lowly, as he gives you the tiniest squeeze. He caresses you, lulling his fingers to cup your underside, feeling your hand hard nipples graze under his palm. He pulls his hand up to your collarbone, shuddering as your nipple draws a line on his palm again. He sinks back onto the bud, only this time with his golden fingertips, pulling them into a squeeze. You harden, parting your lips a little.

"Be a bit faster, Adam, I can't wait forever," you whisper.

"R-Right--"

"If you must stare, I perhaps I'll send you a few polaroids," you giggle.

His jaw slacks. As he stutters, "Yes... My Empress but-- I don't know how to do anything else."

You part your legs, flashing your pretty cunt to him. Adam sucks it in. You meticulously slide your hands down your body and to your clit, slowly rubbing circles for him to watch. He turns to you, leaning over to peer at your exposed labia. His dick twitches. He watches you moan before dipping your fingers down, parting your hole with two fingers for him to see.

He slips off the bed, you pay him no mind, as you continue to pleasure yourself. You're magnetic in this moment, eyes shut peacefully, fingering yourself at a quick pace, loving the way your hymen stretched around the entrance and bullying that intensely. He gets to enjoy the best part from here, you dipping in a see of plush red, moaning. He slips back on to the bed, his little moment over, as a new fire overcomes him.

He slots between your legs, holding your thighs, parting them wider, as you pull out of your yo shift and angle for his take down. He rolls out his pink tongue, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, looking dead at you as he did so. His heart was beating so fast, he was so nervous. But you couldn't tell, you flushed, patting his head with a whisper, "Good boy."

He he doesn't slow down, not even as his scleras glow brighter with sensitive lust. He's laying full on his stomach, grinding into the sheets as he sticks his whole tongue inside you, squirming it up against your hymen, just how you liked it. "Aah... Adam," you moan. He twists his head, grip intense on your thighs, as he fucks his tongue into you, pawing up around the layer of muscles that tighten around him, squirming the hard tip of his tongue into your walls before thrusting out, thickening his tongue and badgering your entrance with it. All just to slam it back in, erratically swirling his tongue from side to side, thrusting it in deep, flattening out his tongue for the thickness inside of you.

You bucked into him roughly, reaching out and grabbing chunks of his hair.

He could feel your loud moans reverberate through you, as you pushed yourself down on his tongue. His balls jerked, and he gave into the intenseness by grinding down more onto the sheets.

He pulls out to pant, too enamored by the flithy act that he forgets to breathe. He goes back in fast, lapping up your clit and labia, adoring how you felt when he parted you with a flat tongue. Your pussy made all sorts of vulgar sounds, complimenting the grunts that flew out your body.

He really couldn't take this.

He slips his tongue back in, dropping one of your thighs. He rockets his freehand up, snapping sharp into the air. The click comedy with a room shaking buzz, the lights flicker, and with a rough grasp, you feel energy invading your body. It directly attacks your heart, pulling at a strange sensation just behind it- your very essence. Your soul.

You gasp, feeling a phantom heartbeat ring next to yours. It's warm and inviting, full of kindness and light- golden, tasteful-- "A-Adam," you whine out.

Your breath quickens. Your soul is tied to Adam's in this moment, all of you belonging to him. It was odd and strange, the sensation like a relaxing lullaby but burning with passionate energy. You shudder. You can somehow feel Adam, not just his heart but-- feel yourself in his perspective. You can feel his embarrassment, how its hidden by lustful eyes, feel his passion for you, how his whole body seems to burn. As you look down at him, you find he's already staring at you, leaning his head against you thigh, his hair hugging his face.

"He's watching you ride out your high. Your first time ever begin soul-tied to him.

You whine again, hearing his thoughts interrupt you.

You both reach for eachother, sensing it in your souls, as he frees a hand to intertwin with yours. You met half way, yet again, loving his warmth and his company.

You groan and buck your cunt forward, he pulls off your thigh and buries into it on command. His hand runs from thr back of your thigh to the inside, resting right by his cheek to support him in his bullying of your clit. He flicks it and rolls it erratically around, doing all of this on repeat just to pull you into his warm mouth and suck you off.

He can feel your soul cry out, feel how the sensations make you feel, but they coarse through his own body, reverberating inside his being. He can feel what it's like to have your clit bullied, and it forces him to thrust against the bed and grunt, slipping off your clit in the process.

He sighs helplessly, tucking hair behind his ears before drawing an experimental strip up your clit. He can feel the sensation against his cockhead simultaneously. You grunt and buck your pussy forward, your crotch knocks against his nose, and you both hiss upon feeling Adam's pain.

You only need to think it, "Adam, what's going on,"

Before he responds back to you, despite ever speaking a word, "In this moment, I am yours and you are me. Our souls have bonded. I feel all of you," he strokes your thigh, "you feel all of me."

You moan out, "Haa- fuck!" Your eyes rolling back in ecstacy. You can feel his-- or yours-- throb, it's so painfully tense with heavy, shaking balls. His load is going to hard and huge, you can feel the sensation ring up his reproductive systems and to his brain.

The combination of dopamine and oxytocin firing through both of your bodies was an overwhelminf sensation, your mouth grew parched. You finally rested back down onto the pillow, Adam senses your acceptance, and he goes back into you. His work is sloppier, interrupted by his own grunts and moans, but he still fucks your clit up, badgering it, slurping and flickering against it.

You can feel him, feel what it's like to devour you, feel what it's like to sense your pleasure on his cockhead, how these bullying sensations feel like teasing on his cock. You can feel Adam begin to lose it, as he tries to suck up your whole vulva, just to feel the sensation on his cock too.

You grab chunks of his hair, roughly pulling up out of your body with a huff, "Adam- A-Adam hurry up and fuck me," you think.

He's so pitiful in your hold, not even hissing in pain, just thrusting up into the sheets. He nods simply and quietly, sloppily pinning you down. And even sloppier, his head pokes everywhere put your entrance. You can feel his thick head thrust into your folds and part them, twitching before bumping into them again, and again, each in a different area.

You hiss, tightening your death grip on his hair, he whimpers. You use your voice for the first time, "Put it inside, dammit!"

You release him and he drops his head into your neck, biting down hard as he forcefully, and finally, slams all the wall inside. He bottoms out inside you, all glorious seven inches, as he's skinner with a fat head. You both moan out in unison, yours are mostly filled with bright eyed gasps. You can feel your walls tremble around him, what its like to have a hot and heavy cock inside a warm womb, and simultaneously, the thrill of being filled up.

Adam's whimpering, panting, thrusting into you as if you were a pillow. His thrusts are shallow, he's barely leaving you, drowning in your warmth and fucking your cervix at this point. He likes the way it hurts, having your cervix bullied, he likes the sensation that you feel when your pussy's full. He can't leave, he never wants to.

But his man-ly senses override the glory of his new-found feminine desires.

He releases your shoulder, his forehead against yours, tightening his grip on your entwined hands as he fucks you, pulling out and then slamming in harshly, just to do it again. Focused on roughness than speed. "Aah- My! E-Empress," he mewls. He loves the way he feels on your-- more so our- hymen, finally understanding in full why you bullied it so much.

Such a normally restrictive muscle being forced to loosen, the pleasure and pain were comingling into one new, glorious thing. He loved how his head bludgeoned it to stretch, before his skinny cock made it shrink, just for it cry out when it had to deliver his fat head out.

You, on the otherhand, you used your freehand to claw his shoulders, already fucked out of your mind. Your bodies were combining into one sensations, you couldn't separate them the way Adam could. You felt your cock get a tight and hot hole, and your pussy get fed. Like some simple ape, you hollered and moaned in an endless stream, feeling your cock twitch in a pretty orgasm.

"Im- gonna cum," you moaned out, shooting your load into yourself. Only for your pussy to drown in a pretty wave, cumming instantly at the thick, appreciative sprays. You moaned ans arched off the bed, spitting out, "'M cumming a-again!"

Adam shakes, his virgin body forced him to cum again, right after you, his second time today. You moan out again, thwarting your head all the way back, not caring for the pain that rushed up your spine. "C-Came! Th-Thrice," you mewled, your toes flying up clenched.

Adam released your hands as his head fell heavy. His forehead and thr top of his head rested on the bed, his hands scooped up your hips, pressing you against him as if he were lost in a bowing prayer. He fucks into you, still maintaining that sloppy, but incredibly deep pace. He just wants to squeeze around his fat cockhead, and you do so, making him cum once again in your hot walls.

Your claws rip out skin, blood oozing out of your golden back, as you scream. To your magically inexperienced, you've been cumming non-stop, no separation between the two of you. Your mind was in ruins, tearing flooding out your body as you sobbed. Adam felt them swell up in his eyes, as he bits down on the sheets.

His brain rings, "A bit more. Please a bit more i need to remember this forever," Adam thinks. You nod pitifully.

He manages strength to raise his head up, and shoot up fully upright on his knees. He tightens his grip on your hips and fucks speedily, into you, slamming his burly head in your gummy walls, the sickness of a sea of cum aids him to go fast. There's this milky ring that builds on his shaft for every thrust, forcing the sea of cum to dribbling down and spray out when it can. The color was a light golden. Pure strays of gold mixed with your human slick, it's a glittering sight that none of you can behold, too lost in the balance of chemical fires.

Your orgasm is building, he can sends your ovaries forcing out a painful quake. His orgasm is building, you can your-- his-- balls surge.

"Cumming! Big-- Big c-cumming," you try to warn him, but trust me he already knows. You brace yourself, reaching out and grabbing chunks of the red sheets.

"Fuu- Fuck-- (Y/n)-(Y/n)-(Y/n)," he chants, speeding up as his high reached.

He slammed down into your cervix, your highs combined into one explosion, as you exploded out a hot load within yourself, and his ovaries squeezed out every last drop down your womb to meet you. The mess filled your womb up with cum, your breath dulling in your throat, your voice hoarse from the screams you didn't know were falling out.

Adam could barely stand upright, as he trembled from head to toe, jerking and pulsating. The pleasure came with an endless pain that followed, forcing him to snap his fingers, feeling his soul return to his body.

You both gasped at the ready-ness. It felt as if someone forced the lights on in a comfortable, dreary sleep. He pulls out of you and collapses next to you, panting and heaving as it his life depended on it.

His balls had completely tagged, as with his cock, it shrunk behind his foreskin almost instantly. You were still moaning in confusion, forced into another, painful orgasm just as your body returned from being one.

You grunted out, almost instantly flying into his body as he laid down, head resting in his chest, hand grasping at his body. And as you turn on your side, a flurry of cum rockets out of your wall, the sensation is nothing but endless relief. You moan again, unaware of how sweaty and sticky you were, seemingly everywhere.

Adam quickly jumps into action, snuggly pulling you into him as he helps the two of you into the ruined covers, barely resting his head on the pillows before it was lights out for him.

And you, you got to revel in after-glow glory before you too, were knocked out.

🏆🌟

Your eyes burned behind your eyelids, disoriented as you shot up. Your eyes opened shortly after you found yourself upright, instantly noticing how your uterus cramped up tightly before mellowing. You were in a warmlight red room, your hair wild, the strench of sweat and sex pure and thick in the air. You were deathly hungry, deathly parched, and desperately in need of a shower.

What the fuck?

The memories of before hit you like a brick.

You gasp, it's a picture of bewilderment, amazement, and anxious excitement as you turn to Adam in bed. He's grunting awake, laying a hand on his forehead as his eyes pop open.

You nudge him, "Adam." He grunts, his eyes closing blissfully. You nudge him again, "Adam. Adam... Wake up, honey." Your voice is drowning in tender affection.

"Oh fuck," he hisses, as he finally sits up, just like you. "Ah-- Shit... 'Ve got a migraine," he speaks as he keeps his hand against his forehead.

But he smiles oh so gratefully, and oh so tenderly when he sees you. He leans in and pecks a loving kiss on your lips, and you moan awesomely into it. There's this air of awe that suffocates you both as you pull away.

"Fuck," you hiss. "That was," you trail off blissfully.

"Exhilarating," he finishes. Adam slips off the bed, his knees buckling before he catches himself. He looks back at you, and finally gets to see the mess you two have made. His sheets are drowning in crusty sweat, and even worse, smeared with thick white crust in one concentrated area. He cringes bashfully, looking away in disgust and pride.

You walk up to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"We need a shower, my sweet," you smile. Your hair's a mess.

He giggles.

The shower, turned bath, was lovely. The two of you engaged in meaningless talk about everything and anything. Like what letter of the alphabet the galaxy would be, and if rocket where a cat would he be less angry? Things that floated from your mind to his, and he simply went along with as he helped you wash and comb out your dirty hair. As he scrubbed himself while you rinsed. And finally, as he snuggled your warm body onto his while you yapped in the hot water.

You've never been so vulnerable, as you laid your bare body against him, your hair up as it sat in his conditioner, his lips and face already familiarizing itself with your neck.

"But out of all the races, I never would've expected a Xyler. Maybe a Luma, but never a Xyler. They're naturally more... Well," you paused in thought, "Reproduction-minded."

"Mmh, I've never been to Wahloni. I wouldn't know," Adam hummed, as his hands worshipped up and down your body, mostly your sweet breasts were played with.

You sighed in content.

"Hey... You ought to pick up your team too... You still have seats to wash, my golden boy," you grin.

He huffs, "Don't remind me." He picks his head up, turning to the large mirror in the bathroom. "Computer," he shouts, it responds with a ding, "what time is it?"

The mirror warps, a holographic "2:30 pm", flashing on the screen.

Your eyebrows furrow. "Huh? You arrived at four?"

"Ah, the clock's messed up... It's probably only eight, I've got until eleven," he speaks. Adam begins to kiss suck your neck, you moan sweetly. "Let's... Play again," he whispers.

You laugh, "No Adam! I still haven't recovered from that."

He kisses your ear, "I won't use my Soul-Bonding."

"No. Not a chance! Trust me, my sweetness, there will be more where that came from. Simply, another time," you turn to him, kissing his lips sweetly.

He wraps arms around your hips.

"Let's clean, my dear," you command him.

The two of you slip out the bathtub after you finish your route. He helps dry you off as he fetches your suits from the hang wrack. They're fully dry, curtesy of their quality, but the two of you decide white robes would be better. Adam loads his sheets in next, while you fetch a while glasses and some wine. He follows you out to the common area, where a nice flat screen descends.

"What time is it, computer," Adam barks again.

"Hello, Adam Warlock. It is 2:57 pm, Eastern Standard."

His eyebrows quirk. "That can't be right?"

"You have 250, new messages. Shall I read them?"

"Fuck-- Yes," Adam tensely folds his arms. You grin at the chaos, pouring your glass.

"From Rocket Raccoon. Where are you dipshit. Do not leave us stranded. From Mantis. Are you okay? We don't mind if you're a little late. From Drax. Hurry the fuck up. From Rocket Raccoon. I will shred you into gold flake--"

Adam gasps, "Wait, computer give me the full date and time."

It spurs, "It is 2:57 pm, January 8th. Drax's birthday is approaching. Should I set a reminder?"

You shoot off the couch.

Adam grabs his locks viciously in his hands as he yells panickedly. "Wait, what? The eighth? That's tom... Holy shit," Adam frantically looks at you.

Your eyes bulged out. "That's! We slept in, Adam!"

In a hurry, the two of you speed in two different directions. You rush to throw on your suit, Adam runs down to the control board. He starts a call, and you can hear Mantis's strained voice as she yells. You don't care to make out the words, quickly collecting every reminder of you ever being here in your pals, as you rush back to Adam.

He turns back from the conversation to you, "Yes! Yes. I was attacked by," his eyes lock onto you, "The! The Empress!"

"Oh god, but it's not even February? Does she not care about the party," Mantis huffs in disbelief.

"She's an animal. Can't expect an animal to follow rules," Rocket gruffs.

You bite your lip. Adam shoots you a soft look.

"I think it was all bark no bite, as I defeated her pretty fast. She chased the ship through the galaxy-- But there's not a scratch on it," he speaks, not looking back at the computer.

"It's villian menopause. She's falling behind. That's what it is," Drax hums.

You clench your fists with angry. Huffing as their conversation drones on.

"I don't know, but Adam. I've got my own adventures to return to, okay," Mantis drones on.

You jester to the door, waving at him. He nods sharply, waving as you rush out. He cant help the warm, affectionate smile thats on his face. They make his next words oddly happy, "I've got it. Don't worry I'm returning."

He'll, see you again.

As you step out into your ship, you rush into the airlocks before opening your hatch, allowing Adam to fly out of your ship's park. And just as you return to your cockpit, your system dings.

"One New Message from Golden Boy, My Empress. Should I read it?"

Your heart flutters, "Yes."

Your system speaks,

"Same time next week? :)"

#adam warlock #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock x you #mcu #mcu fandom #mcu fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #marvel rivals #marvel rivals adam warlock #adam warlock marvel rivals #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #marvel characters #marvel

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cosmic-seer · 1 year ago

Note

:))

(after reading chapter 9 of Sweet & Sour Dipplins)

what (/j /aff /lh /in anguish /huh /AHHHHHHH /crying /sobbing /why are you doing this to us /don't stop frfr /OUGH THE THEMES /sobbing /beach episode now /the tonal shift from Kieran to Juliana w drayton being iconic ig /speechless /where's the fanart inspo /fanart just autocorrected to canary and idk what to think)

#the fanart is coming don’t you worry #I’m just going even more insane about it than last time #I proooooomise #maybe I’ll post a WIP or two #wink wink #dipplinduo reblog #cosmic reblogs

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eqt-95 · 8 months ago

Note

💙 for supercorp , pretty please!

oh brilliant! yes of course!! i was hoping for this one so i'd finally be motivated to write the scene that was inspired by this post. i have literally had it saved in my tumblr drafts since february. and yes i just scrolled through half of my 784 drafts to find it.

- - - - - -

“Actually no, we're not ‘dating’. We're bound together for infinity. Like the stars. So, fuck you, actually-”

Alex clicked the remote, freezing the screen to perfectly capture a very outspoken, very drunk Lena Luthor doing an uncanny impression of Taylor Armstrong in front of a throng of paparazzi.

“Can we watch it again?”

“No,” Alex answered tersely, setting the remote next to three overflowing folders, a coffee mug that needed to be filled with something a little stronger, and a cellphone she had to silence after the hundredth social media notification sent it rattling off the table.

Nia slouched in her chair with a ‘hmph’ and muttered something that sounded like garbled nothing to normal ears but very much like ‘never any fun,’ to Kryptonian ears.

“Right,” Alex continued, her attention directed across the table. She’d spent the majority of the recording with her face downturn and fingers pinching the bridge of her nose in what could only be described as ‘resignation’ mixed with the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ strategy she had been trying with Esme.. “Care to explain what compelled you to proclaim you... infinite, cosmic link with Supergirl?”

“Not really, no,” a much more subdued, much less drunk Lena answered.

“Seems pretty self-explanatory,” Nia chimed in, spinning in the chair next to Alex. “Luthor can’t hold her liquor.” She bounced a clicky pen on the table-surface to accentuate the point. Alex gritted her teeth.

“I most certainly can-”

“Channel 7 says otherwise,” Nia grinned. The clicky pen was pointed accusingly.

“That,” J’onn began, and then pen clicked in offense, “is the least of our concerns-”

“Exactly,” Alex interrupted while blindly swiping the pen from Nia's hand and slamming it onto the table. “Do you have any idea how many conspiracy theories have started because of this? This has gone national-”

“International, actually,” Brainy added. “Canada and Australia have both picked it up.”

“Which means it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the world is needling around about- about…” Alex’s face plunged closer to a shade of raspberry.

“About what, Alex?” Lena asked. She leaned forward, arms crossed with her super sexy calm, cool, and ceo-collected face. It was almost working too, except for the mischievous glint and flicker of her eyebrow that revealed she was not taking this remotely serious enough for the eldest Danvers sister. “About my throuple with Kara Danvers and Supergirl?”

Alex’s face found her hands. Nia sputtered laughter from behind her own. J’onn stared longingly toward the closed door. Brainy scowled in confusion.

“It cannot be a throuple if two members are the same person,” Brainy said, glancing quickly toward Nia who nodded in confirmation.

“CNN doesn't know that. But fine, call it infidelity, stepping out on-” Lena offered lazily.

“Still not the point. You’ve jeopardized Kara’s secret identity,” Alex interrupted crossly. “And now you've put her in danger of-”

“I thought it was sort of sweet.”

Five pairs of eyes turned toward Kara who, until now, had remained silently observed. She sat at the head of the table wearing her suit and a recent bout of puppy love. Two pairs of eyes were gobsmacked, the third was failing to hide the glee over the entire exchange, and the fourth included a quick wink that made Kara’s cheeks flush even redder and bat her figurative tail even harder.

“Sweet. Right, well,” Alex began again, “‘Sweet’ doesn’t exactly handle the problem, does it?”

“It’ll blow over; these things always do,” Lena added. “We can have Andrea run a boring fluff piece about my night on the town being a slew of misguided comments. Say I said the earth was flat and that I challenged the Second Law of Motion or something. Make it dry. Everyone will chalk it up to part of that.”

“Fine.”

“And we can put this whole thing to-”

“Don't you dare-” Alex warned.

“-bed.”

Alex sighed, J’onn climbed to his feet like a tired high school teacher, Nia bounced giddily in her chair, and Lena was already glancing over at Kara and giving her a look that suggested they were not going to make it through the day without a trip to the broom closet.

Kara's cheeks flushed even redder if that were remotely possible.

•••••••

And so a fluff piece was written, the tabloids took a few lazy swipes at another Luthor edging toward instability, and then the story deflated entirely into obsolescence. The news cycle moved on, Alex's blood pressure returned to normal, and Kara was permanently living on cloud nine.

Everything was fine.

Everything was great.

Everything was going swimmingly.

Until the second video was discovered.

From the same night.

Nia brought popcorn. J’onn brought a heavy sigh. Alex brought a decade of instantaneous aging.

“Care to explain?” Nia asked with her best angry-Alex impression.

Meanwhile Alex was struggling to unclench her jaw.

“Deep fake?” Lena offered lamely.

“Deep fake,” Alex parroted. “You think someone somewhere invested the time to deep fake Lena Luthor and Supergirl making out? For what? Fun? Kicks? Laughs?”

“They already spend hours writing steamy fanfiction,” Lena shrugged.

“They what-?” Alex choked.

“Hot, steamy, inspired sex, really-”

“No-”

“Kara, darling, do you remember the one with my desk and the full-length windows?”

Kara flushed but nodded. Nia squealed with delight. Alex had had it.

“Enough-”

“Or the one where we lived in an alternate universe and you were a cowboy and was your-”

“Stop. Stop it.”

Lena leaned back into her chair, a smile of victory spreading across her face.

“I’m just saying, stands to reason someone might show us in the throws of deep, passionate-”

“I don't want to know. I don't. Want. To know,” Alex interrupted, hands cupped around her ears.

“Cosplay?”

Again five pairs of eyes turned to Kara.

“Could've been cosplay.”

“I can't believe… J’onn can you… handle… this,” Alex waved between the two.

“Should we watch it again?” Nia suggested. “Just to check Kara's theory.”

And without preamble, she clicked play again. It was far fuzzier, far more amateur, and far less deniable than the first.

“Charlie, Charlie, baby look here,” the phone holder shouted over a group of laughing, tipsy NCU students. “Do the impression again, please? I want it for-”

“Yo, yo, check it out.”

“Is that-?”

The camera pivoted from the ginger-haired Charlie to a dark alley between

“Oh damn, is that Supergirl?”

“And… Lena Luthor?”

“I knew it. I told you!”

The stage whispers were doing far more for Alex’s discomfort than the shaky camera zooming 2x onto what was very clearly Supergirl pressing Lena Luthor into a wall and doing a very good job of ripping Lena’s $1,200 blouse open.

“Ooph, Mrs. Fischer is not going to be happy about that,” Nia commented.

A glitter of buttons bounced off the sidewalk, and Supergirl’s mouth was moving hungrily and decidedly across the exposed skin.

“We’ve seen enough,” Alex chimed in and reached, some might say ‘desperately’, for the remote in Nia’s hands. “Once already scarred me for life-”

“But we won’t know until we see drunk, cosplay-Lena’s face. It’s for science, Alex,” Nia answered, clutching the remote like the lifeline to a sinking ship and climbing onto and over the conference table just as ‘cosplay’-Lena pulled ‘cosplay’-Supergirl’s mouth back to her.

“Bullshit,” Alex hissed, making quick work of scattering across the same table.

Meanwhile ‘cosplay’-Supergirl’s hands were no longer visible and the gang of NCU students were actively chanting them on. “Nia Nal, if you do not turn that off right now-”

The chase continued under the table, over three chairs, and around a trash bin Nia knocked over in a valiant attempt to slow her assailant. And while Nia and Alex made a mess of the conference room, ‘cosplay’-Supergirl was making an absolute mess of ‘cosplay’-Lena’s bun-

“Never!” Nia huffed and side-spun before making a poor calculation and tripping over an empty chair. Alex saw her window and lunged, tackling Nia, gripping the remote free and slamming pause just as ‘cosplay’-Lena found the zipper to ‘cosplay’-Supergirl’s suit.

“Do you have any idea the-” Alex’s vitriol stopped in its tracks. Why? Because they were totally and completely alone. No Brainy or J’onn and worse, no Lena or Kara. “What… where’d they go?”

“Probably the broom closet,” Nia mused.

- - - -

ask game

#this ending could've definitely been polished #but the queue is stacking up!#i've definitely landed way more asks than i was expecting!!#exciting times though #thanks for the ask!#fabulousglitch #ask game #qs with quinn

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helenanell · 3 months ago

Text

Shattering Still || Joel Miller

'I had been so ready to die, but Joel Miller stopped me.'

Joel Miller x OFC - (Although can be reader as there's no name or physical description, just an age: 40)

WC: 11K

Warnings: ANGST! Smut MDNI. Interrupted suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, grief, loss of a child. (I'm so serious this is SAD) Joel is angry but well-meaning. Not quite enemies to lovers, but they have no idea what to make of each other.

AN: I never thought I'd write for Joel, but I've been obsessed with and inspired by @almostfoxglove - specifically 'Lock the Gate' which is amazing!

Read on AO3

:✮:·

Blood bloomed upon the snow.

One after the other, crimson drops fell to the ground. And fell and fell. The gash on my forehead had scabbed over the day before, but the tumble I'd taken down that slope an hour or so ago had ripped it right off. I could have stopped, wiped the blood from the side of my face and fashioned some kind of bandage. But there’d be no point.

My path stopped here.

The small clearing in the woods I’d stumbled into was beautiful in its barrenness. As good a place as any, I supposed.

My bruised and battered body screamed when I pressed my back against the nearest tree and dropped inelegantly to the earth. The snow cushioned the impact, but it began to seep into my jeans; dozens of frost-tipped pins pricking at my skin.

I sat there for a moment, transfixed by the indifferent incandescence of winter: so lethal yet so enrapturing. The snow that covered everything from the ground to the tree branches was a smothering weight and yet it glinted in the sun like diamond dust.

Blood from my head wound rolled down and got caught in my eyelashes. I blinked to get rid of it, but it only served to bathe that eye with a tinge of crimson. With an irritated huff I pulled off my glove and used it to wipe at my face. It was messy and sure to be smearing it about my skin, but in minutes that wouldn’t matter. I pulled the glove away and looked at it: stained red, some of it transferred onto my palm, but my eyes snagged on the dried, darkened blood beneath my fingernails that wasn’t mine.

It’s easy to tell yourself that killing in the interest of self-preservation is permissible. Or, at least, that it should not burden you: the snuffing out of a life. I’d always liked the idea of that: snuffing out. To extinguish a flame. It felt fitting when applied to people, seeing as we're all just stardust; detritus from a dead thing that burned in the sky.

We wink out just like stars. What human beings had used to navigate upon land and sea for millenia, were just dead things. We found our way thanks to bodies burning in the darkness.

I’d left behind enough bodies to form whole new constellations. There wasn’t one of them that I regretted.

I’d had someone to protect. Someone worth saving. And I had. Over and over again I had saved that little boy. But none of that had accumulated into some lasting cosmic protection, or formed armour over his skin. None of it had stopped him from dying.

I’d saved him, until I hadn’t. Until I’d watched him die. Let him die.

He’d always been small for his age, but his hands had felt smaller still in my own bloodstained ones, his unblemished skin swallowed up by the crimson smeared on me.

My nephew had been born into grief. He’d been placed, red-faced and squalling, into my arms instead of my sister’s. In the moment, I hadn’t been able to look at him, a led-weight in my arms, screaming for breath as my sister drifted away.

Too much blood.

I’d known it, but I'd still stood there, my sister’s baby in my arms as I screamed at someone- everyone to save her. I’d screamed at the fucking world.

Someone must have taken him from my arms then. I don’t remember it happening, only that my memories then skip like a scratched record to me kneeling at my sister’s side and squeezing her hand. She’d been so exhausted that her head hadn't so much as turned to me, rather it had lolled to the side. Her gaze had been distant and untethered as though she couldn’t see exactly where I was, only knew I was there because of her hand in mine.

“You have to protect him.” She’d begged, her voice hoarse, tears trailing down her face. “He’s yours- your family. Promise me.”

I’m no longer sure if I said it back before her eyes drifted closed. I used to be ardent in the belief that I had, but over the years I started to think maybe her eyes had already been shut when I’d finally said it. Maybe I’d still been kneeling by her side, her hand cooling on my own and the sun set behind me when I let out a sob and said: ‘I promise.’

I had named him. Sophie had told me that she wouldn't feel right to give him one without having met him first. She'd wanted it to suit him. So, I'd looked at him and done my best. Fred, after our grandfather, because I hoped he’d be just as kind as him. I hoped that I was capable of raising him to be kind.

I’d raised him to die.

Perhaps it was my punishment to outlive them. To live long enough that I started to forget. Already my sister’s face had started to blur, the tides of time wearing down her features. Like waves against a rock face.

Everything is always crumbling to pieces. Life is a perpetually disintegrating thing.

It was time for me to disintegrate, to let death wash over me like a wave over a sand castle. When it receded, the thousands of pieces of me would be dragged back into the deep, with no evidence left on the shore that I had existed at all.

I could have just laid down in the snow and shut my eyes, let the cold subsume me, purify me in a wash of white. Drift off in a snow drift. It even sounded nice.

Just like falling asleep. Isn’t that how hypothermia was meant to end. Peacefully?

As tempting as it was, I knew that I couldn't do that. I didn’t deserve an end so… quiet . Not when all those I'd loved had died in such pain and so afraid. The people I had known who were the least deserving of suffering.

The least I could do for them was pull the trigger on myself.

With my body now quaking with the cold, assailed by the dampness soaked into my clothes, I pulled the gun out of the waistband of my jeans. I let out a breath, watched it appear and then disappear in the air before me. Like human lives: blink and you’ll miss them.

I pressed the barrel to my temple, the metal so cold it was a biting kiss.

I shut my eyes. My finger fell upon the trigger.

Snap! A branch broke close by.

It’s funny how even when humans are ready to die, our bodies can still react to imminent danger. Fight. Flight. Freeze. I’d always favoured the first.

My eyes flew open, the gun fell from my temple as I swung it out and pointed it at the figure that had emerged through the trees. No- figures . There were two of them.

Two men moved towards me, similar in aspect but with markedly different expressions.

The one that stepped through the trees first, dressed in a thick tan coat had his gloved hands closed around a rifle that was pointed right at me. He had dark, distrusting eyes that were narrowed into a scowl. His hair was snow-dusted and shot-through with grey.

“Put it down.” He snapped, voice forceful but calm. Texan, if I had to guess. He nodded at the gun in my hand as if I couldn’t have put two and two together.

I didn’t obey him, at least not right away. I watched him watching me and thought about letting him put a bullet between my eyes.

It could be my coward’s way out. If I kept the gun in my hand for even a few seconds more, he would fire his. I could see the promise of it in his eyes. He could finish the job for me. But Sophie and Fred deserved more. I couldn’t be a coward for their sake. I had to be the one to end myself, not a stranger.

I uncurled my rapidly freezing fingers and dropped the gun. The impact sent up a small dusting of snow.

The man grunted disapprovingly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Throw it out of reach.”

“I’d rather not.” My voice was hoarse from dehydration and my throat was still shredded from all of the screaming I'd done when Fred…

I was going to need the gun once the two men had left and I really didn’t want to have to get up again. I wasn’t really sure I could.

The man was having none of it. His face tightened with anger.

“Wasn’t a request.” He snarled. “Now do it.”

I couldn't help the scoff that bubbled up. He had just come across me about to shoot myself, the precaution felt unnecessary. Then again, being distrusting had probably allowed him to live long enough to get the grey in his hair.

At last, the other man stepped forward. He was younger, his hair still mostly dark, but there was a kinship in their features. His deep brown eyes looked me over, not unkindly, before settling on his companion.

“Joel.” He said pointedly. I didn’t need to know him to discern what he left unsaid.

It’s not us that she’s a danger to.

Then, his eyes slid over to the object clasped in the other hand. Pressed against my chest was Fred’s teddy bear, it’s fur matted with blood. I’d been carrying it for my entire journey and ice crystals had formed upon it. The teddy was the only thing I’d brought with me besides the gun: I had no need for anything else l where I was going.

Joel’s gaze followed the other man’s and for a moment, he went utterly still. Only for a moment though, because it wasn’t long before his eyes snapped back to my own and he repeated his order:

“Throw the gun out of reach.”

With an exhausted sigh I did as I was told. The moment the thump of the gun landed, the other man moved forward and pushed down the barrel of Joel’s gun so it pointed at the ground.

“Sorry about my brother.” He said, shooting the brooding man a reproachful look before looking to me. His smile was tentative. “I’m Tommy and this is Joel.

I nodded stiffly, not in the mood for greetings. I just wanted them gone. And yet, when I spoke it wasn’t to tell them to fuck off and let me die.

“You’re from Jackson.” I said.

It wasn’t a hard leap, we couldn’t be more than an hour outside of it.

“That a question?” Joel spat.

I didn’t acknowledge the walking stormcloud and instead kept my attention on his brother. It wasn’t that I was deluded enough to think he was in any way kinder, the way he stood told me enough: just as willing to shoot me if I looked at them the wrong way.

“Yes, we are.” Tommy confirmed. His brother’s head whipped around, but he was unbothered by the glare he received.

“We were heading there.” I uttered mournfully.

We . I must have been more delirious than I realised.

Thankfully, neither of the men pressed me on my blunder. I suppose the way they had found me and the blood-stained bear in my hand made the absence at my side clear enough.

“We’re on our way back.” Tommy said. “You could come with us.”

“Tommy!” Joel closed the gap between himself and his brother, grabbing his arm and jostling him.

Honestly, I was also a little startled. It took the exchange of a couple of sentences for him to extend such an offer?

Tommy shrugged off Joel’s grip. “That’s not your decision to make big brother.”

“Tommy, look at her! With all the shit she’s covered in, she could be bit and we wouldn’t see it. You want to drag an infected into Jackson?”

“Not infected.” I sniped back, not really knowing why I bothered.

Something about his contempt stoked the dying fire within me. There was no need to be a bastard about the woman you’d just stopped from blowing her brains out.

Joel’s eyes returned to me, sharpened with a new edge. “If you’re not bit, then why were you–”

His speech stopped abruptly, his mouth clamped shut before the rest of his sentence could tumble out. I could make an educated guess at what it would have been: Why were you about to kill yourself?’

“That’s hardly the only reason for it.” I grumbled, answering his incomplete query. “Now, seeing as you made me get rid of it, I'd appreciate it if you could pass me my gun before you go.”

Whatever wary confusion had possessed Joel to even start to enquire about my motives disappeared and his scowl returned.

“Get it yourself.” He barked. His hand shot out and he grabbed his brother’s arm again, tugging him back. “Tommy, time to go.”

With that Joel turned away, already marching through the trees. I entertained the thought that if he found anything in his path, instead of going around he’d just walk straight through it. He seemed the type: stubborn to a fault. Stubborn to the point of pain.

Tommy, as if repelled from his brother like a magnet, moved in the opposite direction and right towards me. His heavy boots crunched on the snow. As he came to a stop, he slung his rifle over his shoulder.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly trying to find the right words. “Look- whatever you were about to do…I know that ‘aint any of my business.”

“Tommy!” Wherever Joel was, his brother’s body blocked my view, but I could feel the glare passing through his brother and into me like a laser beam.

Tommy ignored him and moved closer, then dropped to a knee in front of me.

“Our lives are all we’ve got a right to anymore, so yours is to do with what you will. But, that’s not a decision to be made lightly and you look like you’ve been through it. How about you come back with us, stay for the night, have a hot meal at least?”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. He had no reason to offer me this, to try and coax me to Jackson at all. At least, no good reason. No one made altruistic offers, not anymore.

Then again, I could guess that this man had taken his fair share of lives. Maybe he’d changed, or was changing and thought that stopping a stranger from dying would do a little to balance his scales.

I could understand that urge. I’d thought Fred could redeem me. Make me nurturing when I’d never had the inclination. Kids will do that to you. Make you want to be better than you had ever considered possible.

I’d tried my best. I really had. But I’d never escaped the feeling of being a poor substitute for my sister; my care and compassion so pitiful compared to what she could give. I’d never had a deep well in that regard.

I suppose I wouldn’t have known until Fred was older if he’d truly felt loved by me. Sure, he’d told me he did, but he was a little boy and I was all he had.

It had been a selfish, self-indulgent fear of mine that he’d grow up, meet other people, perhaps see other families and realise how poorly I measured up; that he’d been deprived by me. How desperately I wanted to return to those anxieties that had felt so crippling at the time. Fear meant he was alive.

Now there was just…nothing. I served no purpose. There was no point to anything at all.

But I also had no fight left to give and I had a feeling that despite what he said, Tommy wasn’t going to let me refuse him so easily. I also doubted that he’d retrieve my gun for me: passing me the weapon that I would use to end it all might feel too much like culpability for a man who seemed to have a conscience.

So, I gave in. I granted a stay of my own execution and nodded.

Tommy smiled warmly as he stood up. “Come on, we got our horses tied up nearby. You can ride with me.” He leant down and offered me a hand, easily hauling me to my feet.

Weak and exhausted, I staggered to the side, but Tommy’s hold stopped me from falling. The wind blew, drying the blood that had slowed to a trickle on the side of my face.

“Woah, easy.” He said, looping one hand through my arm to anchor me to him. “You good?”

“Fine.” My breathlessness betrayed me.

“We gotta worry about anyone coming after you? Your blood’ll be like a trail of breadcrumbs in the snow.” Tommy guided me to turn around and we walked towards the treeline. Joel was waiting there, his gun still gripped tightly as he watched his brother and I advance.

“No one’s following me.” I assured him, fighting against the images that flashed behind my eyes. Bullets fired in my mind and then ricocheted off the inside of my skull.

“You sound very sure.” Joel said flatly as Tommy led me past him, he fell into step behind us. It was like having a dog snapping at my heels.

I bristled at the hostility in his voice, it was a challenge that I usually would never have been able to resist but there was no point in fighting him.

“They’re dead.” I answered bluntly.

I’d killed every last one of them.

Their blood had mingled with Freddie’s on my hands. It had felt like a desecration but it hadn’t stopped me.

Both brother’s made no further comment. When Tommy told his brother to fetch my gun, I was surprised that he complied without verbalising any objection. Although he didn’t give it back to me, just tucked it into the back of his jeans.

We remained silent after that, right up until we reached their horses. I joined Tommy on his, his, his brother striking out in front and brooding on his own mount.

When the wall’s of Jackson came into view I failed to fight back tears. I’d been so close to getting Fred to safety.

So close.

:✮:·

Once I had the two jagged edges of the gash on my forehead pressed together between my fingers, I gritted my teeth and pushed the needle through. The skin was already livid and raw, but a fresh drop of blood beaded there thanks to the pressure I was exerting. As I made the first stitch, I caught the sympathetic wince of the woman behind me in the mirror’s reflection.

“Not good with needles?” I asked, already back to sealing myself shut. It was another pointless endeavour, like glueing a shattered teacup back together while knowing that I was only going to drop it again, but acquiescing to it had seemed to appease Tommy. He’d also assured me that his wife wouldn’t hear of it being left unattended.

That had proved true enough when Maria had arrived at Jackson’s infirmary. Tommy had sent someone to pass along word of the stray he’d brought home.

Maria had looked me over with guarded concern, assuring me that I was welcome, while making it very clear that stepping out of line would be met with swift consequences. I admired her sternness: it was so clearly rooted in the desire to preserve the remarkable place that had been built.

I wasn’t entirely convinced that I hadn’t passed out in the snow back and was just imagining all of it.

Jackson felt like a dream that only my dying mind would have the luxury of conjuring up. I’d walked through the streets with Tommy and seen…normalcy. A sort of mundanity that had become a fanciful thing in my mind.

“Not good at watching someone stitch themself up, I guess.” Maria answered. She shifted so that she was leaning back against the wall, one hand cradling her belly. She couldn't have been far off her due date.

“I’ve never had anyone to do it for me.” I admitted, piercing my skin again.

I’d had to fight them to be able to tend to myself. Maria had insisted they had someone who knew what they were doing, but I couldn’t stand the idea of it: a stranger leaning over me, breathing on me for an extended period of time. Too close. Too prolonged. Just the thought made my gut twist.

It was best that I did it myself.

“It’s hard to accept help, at first. But you’ll adjust.” Maria’s tone was soft yet knowing.

I focused intently on the movements of the needle, forcing down a scoff at her words.

“Trusting people to have good intentions is asking for trouble.”

Maria nodded. “Out there, sure. But there are good people here. Families just trying to make it through.”

My grief was as volatile and shifting as the sea and I found myself biting back a nasty retort about it being pretty damn easy for the people here to make it through, safe behind high walls with their children, while somewhere else another mother lost hers.

The people of Jackson weren’t surviving, they were living . That was a luxury. And while it was a beautiful thing, practically incomprehensible given the state of the world, it shone too brightly for me to stand. I found it blinding. I wanted to throw dirt on it, smear it with filth to cover the shine.

When you’ve lived so long by crawling through the dirt, the sight of cleanliness is disconcerting. Almost uncanny.

As I came to the last stitch, my open wound now a raised edge, puckered and tied together with thread, I let myself meet Maria’s eye through the mirror.

“Look, I do appreciate the welcome, but there’s no need to go to any trouble.”

Maria waved my words away. “We’ve got enough empty houses to go around.”

Houses.

Not a room in an abandoned building where i’d have to barricade the door, or a tent that never felt remotely safe enough to get any sleep in. Or out in the open, beneath the stars.

Wherever Fred and I had found ourselves, I had never slept. I always ended up just watching him, his little chest rising and falling beneath his sleeping bag.

Oblivious to my wandering mind, Maria continued. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we do have a process. The council–democratically elected–would want to talk to you if you decided to stay with us. You got any skills?”

“Define skills.” I said, as I tied off the thread and reached for the scissors that gleamed in the metal tray by my hand.

“Hunting. Shooting. Would be nice to have another person with a green thumb.”

put down the scissors and turned to face Maria. I leant back against the table, crossing my arms over my chest. It had long been my instinct to take a defensive stance.

“I can hunt.” I told her. “I can make traps and snares and I’m good with a gun.” I didn’t know why I was entertaining Maria’s inquiries, but acting as if I was someone intent on surviving seemed like it would lead to less resistance.

The last thing I wanted to do was solicit questions about what had happened to me. To Fred. Questions about why her husband and brother-in-law had found me alone in the woods, clutching a bloody teddy bear and readying to shoot myself. Tommy must have told her.

Before he had excused himself, husband and wife had ducked out into the hallway to talk and while Maria hadn’t treated me like a broken thing once she’d returned, there was something in her eyes that amounted to understanding.

“How good with a gun?” Maria asked, appraising me inquisitively.

“Very good.” I admitted matter-of-factly. “Our dad was a marine. Taught us to shoot long before the world went to shit.”

“Us?” Maria pressed tentatively.

Shit.

A decade after my sister died and I still thought in terms of ‘us’ and ‘we’. Ours.

“My sister.” I offered, hoping my bluntness would crush the topic of conversation before it could grow. Thankfully, it did.

We fell into a brief silence that bordered on comfort before Maria pushed off the wall.

I tensed instinctively at the movement, my hand itching to reach for the gun that Joel hadn’t returned. I’d need to ask Tommy about that.

Maria woman clearly noted my reaction, but carried on as normal.

“So…” She began with a smile. “Have I convinced you to stay? For the night, at least?”

“That’s what your silence was: you convincing me?”

“With some people, words hurt more than they hinder.” Maria said simply. “It has to be up to you. So?”

“Okay.” I said slowly. “One night.”

Maria had started moving towards the door before I'd finished my sentence. “Great! Let’s get you home. I’ll find you some clean clothes too.”

As Maria walked out, beckoning me to follow, I released a long sigh. I didn’t like the sound of that: your home. It had the distinct whiff of someone who wasn’t done trying to convince me, in silence or otherwise.

If only the Miller brother’s had arrived in the clearing just ten seconds later. I’d already be far from there, far from myself and all that I had done. And all that I had failed to do.

:✮:·

Something about the house I was given broke through my numbness to inject a dose of sadness. It was small. Just one floor. But it held vestiges of the life that had been lived so long ago.

Lines were etched into the wooden door frame that led into the kitchen, marking the growth of ‘Katie’ . She’d reached the height of my belly button before any chance of a normal future had been snatched away from her. Maybe she was alive somewhere, now an adult taller than me, but hope was just self-deception. It made reality more bearable.

Then there were the cupboards that were full of mug’s, many of them chipped. One had ‘ World’s Best Mom!’ stamped across it.

Everything was covered in dust that had gathered since the last occupants had fled, only to be kicked up by my footsteps. It felt a bit like disturbing a tomb. Except there were no bodies, just an absence. But that’s what death was: an absence in the existence of those left behind.

Maria had showed me to the house and then promptly left me to my solitude.

I attempted to settle down in the bed, curling up with the patchwork blanket I'd been given, but the softness of it was unpleasant.

I’d gone too long moving from place to place with Fred and when there had been a bed–and there was usually only one–I had let him take it and slept on the floor, or in a chair. Sometimes, I sat with my back against the door all night.

Then there had been all of the camping we had done. It had felt strange calling it that, as if it had been a recreational activity rather than a necessity, but framing it that way had made it seem more like an adventure for my nephew.

All of which was to say, I lasted a pitiful amount of time in the bed before I was gathering up the blanket and the pillow and traipsing into the living room at the front of the house and settling down on the floorboards between the couch and the coffee table.

There were bay windows that looked out onto the street, but there were no curtains or blinds to close for any semblance of privacy. No matter, it meant I could see the stars.

I laid down, bathed in a moonbeam that streamed inside, but made no attempt to shut my eyes. I just stayed there and stared up at the damp stain on the ceiling. Once clouds crossed the moon and the room darkened, the stain became a pool of blood in my eyes, spreading and spreading and spreading.

:✮:·

Tommy had returned my gun to me on the morning of my first day in Jackson. And yet, three sunrises later, I was still alive and kicking. Well, not kicking, but I was breathing.

I hadn’t had a change of heart where the wastefulness of my life was concerned, I just…hadn’t ended it yet. I was just so fucking tired. Part of me had died back in that clearing I think, even though Joel and Tommy had stopped me pulling the trigger.

There were so many more kids in Jackson than I’d thought there’d be. I don’t know why it surprised me, but seeing all the chubby cheeks and gapped tooth smiles was salt in a gaping wound.

I couldn’t help but imagine Fred and his head of blonde curls amongst the little flock. I’d called him duckling for a long time, because when ruffled, his hair had looked like the fluffy down of a little bird.

He’d have been so happy in Jackson. Nervous, at first, because he had never grown up with kids his own age, but he’d have shaken the worry off in no time, buoyed by the prospect of friends.

We’d been so fucking close. So close to a type of happiness I’d thought died with the old world. Part of me hadn’t even believed that a place like Jackson could exist. A community where actual kindness could be found, polished to a shine; a point of pride instead of something people let gather dust in a dark corner of their mind.

It had been a dream. A wish that I'd made for the both of us, one that I’d repeated with every step that we had taken forward.

But it did it exist.

Just being there hurt .

And if there was one thing that was intrinsic to humans no matter what state civilization was in, it was that we’d hurt and be hurt. And pain led us to seeking out ways to numb it. It’s how we’d ended up with alcohol.

The Tipsy Bison was almost too close to the bar’s I had spent my early twenties in. All dark wood and dark walls, sticky booths and shitty lighting.

The back wall behind the bar was an explosion of discordant memorabilia, all fighting to catch your eye first: a shooting trophy, a tiny American flag, a clock with what looked like a submarine on it, a little anchor. Everywhere you looked something new.

With a heady buzz building behind my eyes, I looked up at the mirrors behind the bar, partially obscured by the empty bottles that cluttered up the shelf beneath it. There were fairy lights strung up on the ceiling and in the reflection, my blurred vision made them bleed into one pulsing, glowing mass.

I groaned and dropped my forehead down onto the bar, enjoying how cool the varnished wood felt. My stitched head wound stung at the impact, but I found a perverse thrill in it.

I thought if I stayed utterly still and tried my best to block out the noises of the other patrons, the headache might begin to abate. Then I would move, stumble back to the house I'd been given.

I thought my plan might just work, until someone gracelessly dragged out the empty stool beside me. It scraped against the floorboards and I felt the vibrations in my brain. I groaned as I sluggishly lifted my head to find the culprit.

The scar at Joel’s temple was the first thing my eyes fell upon. It was almost illuminated in the bar’s inconsistent lighting. His posture was rigid, making him seem somehow even more solid, like he weighed himself down to the extent that movement was a chore. A hulking immovable object.

“Quit it.” Joel groused. He didn’t so much as glance at me out of the corner of his eye, his attention reserved for the barman who’d already poured him a whisky.

I sat up a little straighter, narrowing my eyes at him. “What?”

“Quit fuckin’ staring.” He snapped in answer, still not deigning to meet my eye.

“Wasn’t staring.” I spat back.

“What would you call it, then?”

“Observing.”

Oh, and Joel really didn’t like that: the notion that I had been watching him actively. As if taking him in visually, learning even a little about him from it, was a kind of theft, a terrible, offensive transgression. He gripped his glass tighter, making the tips of his fingers turn white. He angled his head in my direction, not quite looking at me, but close enough.

“Nothing to observe.” He muttered resentfully.

It had been over a decade since I'd let myself get so drunk and it brought out an instinct to antagonise that I’d forgotten I possessed. I smiled nastily and leant a little closer to him.

“Are you under the impression that you’re invisible?”

“No.” He shot back. “Sure would be nice though.”

“Oh?”

“This conversation wouldn’t be happening.”

“You started it.”

Joel slammed his glass down into the bartop, some of the dark liquid spilled over onto his hand. “What are you, fuckin’ five years old?”

I didn’t answer. My heavy head became too much to bear so I dropped it back down into my folded arms. The energy the alcohol had given me was already spent.

As I expected, the silence suited Joel just fine and minutes passed without another peep. I started to entertain the thought that he’d never try to engage with me ever again but then…

“Do you not need to eat?”

I looked to look at him but didn’t lift my head up off my arms. “Feeling talkative now?”

Joel had gone back to looking at anywhere but me. He grunted in displeasure at my mockery but carried on. “Been five days, haven’t seen you in the mess hall once.”

Instead of answering him, I forced myself to sit up and called out to the bartender, pointing at my empty glass. But, when he approached, Joel’s hand reached out, enfolded the top of my glass and dragged it out of the man’s reach. And his generous pour.

“About time this one was cut off, Seth.”

I scowled and clumsily reached forward to snatch back the glass, but Joel just swept it up and away from me.

“You were happy to leave me to shoot myself in the woods, but you’ll stop me from drinking?” I seethed. I thought I had whispered, but the few heads that turned in our direction told me otherwise.

Joel tensed so severely I thought the glass might shatter in his grip. But after a second or two, he set down the empty vessel and retrieved his own drink and lifted it to his lips. He kept set his eyes forward and took an obnoxiously loud sip.

“Fine. Fucking asshole.” I mumbled as I slid off and snatched my coat off the back of the stool.

“What was that?” Joel asked sharply.

Emboldened by the alcohol and infuriated by him, I sidled right up beside him and leant onto the bar. My other hand fell on his arm and he actually flinched .

“I said, you’re a fucking asshole.” Before Joel could muster up much of a reaction, I pushed off the bar and sent a consternated Seth a weak smile. “Night.”

I lurched out into the street and had to steady myself against the wall, sucking in icy breaths that scratched their way down my throat like glass shards. Painful, but it helped me come back to myself enough to put one foot in front of the other and head for my house.

Shit.

My house.

It should have been ours: Mine and Fred’s. Our home.

Never just mine.

:✮:·

It turned out that getting blind drunk didn’t just impair your vision, but also created such a fog in your mind that you forgot a lot of things. In my case, what I failed to remember as I staggered up the cracked stone path towards the house, was Maria’s warning that the wooden steps of the porch had rotted.

I was not exactly light of step at the best of times, but in my inebriated state, my footfalls may well have been able to crack concrete. So, when I stomped up onto the porch, my right foot went clean through the top step.

My stomach dropped and bile rose as I lurched forward. I was just barely able to catch myself and avoid breaking my nose against the wooden planks. My palms were abraded against the unforgiving surface, my skin riddled with splinters in an instant. I could feel something digging into my ankle and suspected that if I wasn’t so numbed by the alcohol, that I’d be experiencing at least a little pain.

“Fuck.” I grunted as I dragged myself up, pulling my ankle free of the hole. Once most of my body was on stable ground, I flopped down onto my back.

I shut my eyes and willed the world to stop spinning. The wind blew, drawing my attention to the exposed skin between my pant leg and my boot, upon which I could feel the trickle of blood.

Out in the open air with the stars glittering above, although obscured from my sight, I found myself beginning to feel oddly soothed. It was more of a familiar sleeping arrangement than the bed in the house that I’d rejected.

Which was probably why my eyes drifted shut.

:✮:·

A sharp kick against my leg woke me up.

My eyes fluttered open, only to find a dark mass standing over me. After a few more blinks, the nebulous shape began to shift into something more recognisable. Wide chest and broad shoulders, atop which sat a distinctly displeased face.

I couldn’t actually see his expression all that well, but it wasn’t exactly a hard leap to make once I realised that it was Joel.

Now sleep-addled as well as drunk, I was unwilling to be the first to break the silence. He must have realised this, because he spoke first. It sounded like he was under significant duress:

“Your steps have rotted.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” I slurred.

Joel gave no answer, but dropped down onto a knee beside my prone body, emitting a small grunt when the bone cracked.

“Feeling your age?” I asked, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Shut up.”

I was, quite frankly, far too drunk, exhausted and frozen stiff to find to rouse myself to tell Joel to fuck off. The frigid night air had frozen my reservoir of rage. For now.

Despite that, when I felt cold fingers push up the bottom of my pant leg to expose my sticky blood to the night air, I kicked out at his hand. When the sole of my heavy boot made contact with Joel’s hand, he pulled it back with a hiss. “Go away.” I ground out, focusing on the way the now exposed scratches on my ankle stung.

Boots scuffed against wood as Joel rose to his feet, face contorted with displeasure. Before I could let out the sigh of relief at his anticipated departure, he kicked the side of my leg again.

“Can’t stay out here. Get up.”

“I’ll get up when you're gone.”

“No. You’ll pass out and freeze to death.”

“Just fucking let me, then! I’m nothing to you.” I hurled back at him, wincing at the resultant pain in my head.

Daughter, sister, aunt. Through every stage of my life, I had understood myself and my purpose through those titles. But now…I wasn’t anything to anyone. Just nothing .

The silence was drawn out just long enough, I thought he might have left and I was just so delirious I hadn’t heard his footsteps. But the next thing I knew a hand curled around my arm and I was hauled to my feet.

I wanted to curse him, to spit and claw at him, to turn my pain against someone other than myself and draw blood. Before Fred had died that’s what I would have done. But whatever the husk of who I was had left within it, it wasn’t the quickness to violence.

So, I let Joel drag me like a dog on a leash. He was rough. His fingers dug into my arm and he let me stumble over my own feet. He threw open the front door and stormed in, moving far too quickly for my drunken body to coordinate with. As we crossed over the threshold into the house, I tripped and would have ended up on the ground again if he hadn't pulled me to his side. He smelled of whisky and woodsmoke.

We moved down the hall at a jarring pace. It felt as though I was a piece of obsolete equipment that he was hauling around, and therefore he was uncaring about jostling me to the point that a screw or two came loose.

Thankfully, the little house didn’t give us much ground to cover before he was shoving me into the sitting room. When he came to an abrupt stop, I presumed that he was taking in the sight of my blanket and pillow on the floor, but when his hold on my arm eased up, I followed his gaze to the coffee table.

My gun sat atop the dusty surface and right next to it was Fred’s teddy bear, still stained even though I'd lost count of the number of times I'd scrubbed it. No industrial-strength stain remover at the end of the world.

I heard a short, sharp intake of breath and braced myself for a cutting remark, but instead he returned to his man-handling. Joel grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me onto the couch. He then bent down, took hold of my calves and lifted them up, forcing me to twist around so that I was lying flat. When he pulled off my boots, I hissed at his unforgiving hold on my bleeding ankle.

He made no apology, just dropped my boot to the ground and proceeded to yank off the other one.

I laid still and stared up at the ceiling, silently begging that he’d leave without uttering another word. He stood at the end of the couch, watching me like I was a rat caught in a trap. His brown eyes were black in the darkness of the room.

“You got a bed. No good reason to be sleeping on the ground.”

Exhaustion had me back in its grip, so all I could manage as my eyes closed was a mumbled: “What would be a good reason?”

A disgruntled huff. “Don’t be a smartass.”

A heavy weight was tossed over me. I clawed at the fabric, pulling it down until my face was freed and sucked in a breath as if I'd actually been at risk of suffocating. He’d thrown the blanket over me.

My eyes darted around but only caught a glimpse of Joel’s back as he was stepping back into the hall. His footsteps receded and then there was the unnecessarily harsh opening and closing of the front door.

Had I been less intoxicated, the entire interaction would have likely been confounding, but in the state I was in I just sank down into the couch cushions and shut my eyes and thanks to the alcohol, fell right to sleep.

My wakeup call was the sun that speared through the window and landed in my eyes. It split my throbbing head in half like a block of wood. My mouth was like sandpaper and something throbbed angrily behind my eyes. A hangover at forty was a different beast altogether.

I’m not sure how long I stayed inert and wallowed in my self-inflicted sickness, but eventually I did find it in myself to sit up, I swung my legs off the couch and edged forward and as I did so, my eyes fell onto the coffee table.

Fred’s teddy bear was right where i’d left it, but my gun was missing.

:✮:·

Thanks to the tour Maria had given me, during which she’d pointed out her and Tommy’s home as well as ‘Joel and Ellie’s across the way’, tracking down the thief didn’t take long.

My knuckles rapped viciously against his door, exacerbating the symptoms of my hangover and my anger all at once.

Just as I started to contemplate kicking it in, the front door swung inward and Joel filled the gap. It was obscenely early and yet he was already dressed in jeans, another plaid shirt with its sleeves rolled half-way up his forearms. I knew I was a ghastly sight and his displeasure was evident, but I gave him no chance to express that verbally.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth when you’re at my goddamn door.” He bit back.

“Give it back.” I held out my hand, matching his hateful stare.

Joel didn’t try to deny it, he didn’t even blink before he turned around and stomped down his hallway. I waited at the threshold, unwilling to enter his space.

Joel returned with the gun already held out, but when I reached for it, he pulled it back and left my fingers to clutch at the air.

“Don’t be a fucking child.” When I lunged for the gun that now hung in the hand at his side, he enclosed his other one around my wrist.

“You plannin’ on using it?” His voice was strained, as if pressure was being exerted on his neck.

“No.” I sneered sarcastically. “I just think it makes a nice table decoration.”

Joel’s hold tightened and the pads of his fingers pressed into my pulse point. The touch lingered long enough that it felt like he was tracking my heartbeat, but he soon let go.

He did let me take back the gun then, but when I put my back to him he asked:

“Why bother?”

“What?” I wouldn’t turn back to speak to him. I didn’t know what expression he’d end up finding on my face.

Wooden floorboards creaked beneath him as he shifted in place. “Killing yourself here or out there- it makes no difference. Why come with us when Tommy asked? Just means someone has to clean up after you.”

I wanted to see it. I thought. It came to me only then, having not really considered it before that moment. I wanted to see the place that could have become home if both Fred and I had made it.

I shook my head and continued on.

Joel’s voice stopped me again. I hated that it stopped me. Why didn’t I just keep walking?

“If you were sure, you would’ve done it already. You wouldn’t have walked with your head streamin’ blood for as long as you did before sitting down by that tree.”

I looked back at him over my shoulder. “I’m not dragging it out because I want to live, Joel. I just haven’t decided what the actual punishment is: life or death.”

“Punishment for what?”

“He died.” I didn’t offer Joel more than that and left him standing in his doorway.

:✮:·

In the two weeks that I had been in Jackson, I’d spent more time on the floor of my living room than anywhere else. My body protested in its stiffness, almost threatening to atrophy, but I could conjure no will to stop it.

I had no will to do anything at all.

So, it was night and I was yet again, flat against the floorboards, staring up at the stain on the ceiling.

I hadn’t shut the door properly on my way in, something which was signalled to me by the noise coming from the hallway. The wind blustered through the gap, taking every opportunity to rush inside and whisper to me.

The door would hit against the jamb and then creak open. Shut. Then open again.

I had realised almost as soon as I’d laid down, but found myself unable to get up again to close it. So the cold invaded, a pervasive chill that had settled over everything, pricking the skin on my arms on the way down to my bones, attempting to freeze them too.

It didn’t help that I’d just dropped down on top of the blanket instead of crawling under it, leaving myself protected by only sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt.

The noise of the door didn’t bother me. It had a sort of soothing rhythm. Open, shut. Open, shut. The wind whispered through a wooden mouthpiece.

Just out of curiosity, I'd put my fingers against my wrist: the noise was almost in time with my heartbeat.

Outside, the dark clouds which had spent all day swelling to an ominous, bruised bloat had finally burst. Rain lashed against the windows as though it endeavoured to break the glass.

With my fingers still on my wrist, I felt my pulse jump as my front door slammed shut. I waited, but it didn’t creak open again. The wind’s whisper had been quieted.

I don’t quite know how I didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. I must have been more out of it than I’d thought.

“Catchin’ your death from the cold is slower than a bullet.”

I wasn’t startled by the sound of Joel’s voice. I wasn’t angry or even confused. It was more of a disquiet, that the noise of the wind and the door that I had used to ground me for the last hour or so had stopped so abruptly.

The feel of my pulse became an unwelcome sensation. I pulled my fingers away from my wrist.

I didn’t sit up. Couldn’t yet. It felt like there was a physical weight on my chest: grief sitting there, spiteful and malignant but unseen. Maybe I’d spent so long on the floor I’d fused to it.

Joel moved closer and that time, I heard his footsteps.

“You left your door open.” He said.

He’d stopped right by my feet. I could feel the scuffed soles of his boots brush against my socks. There was something about his presence that prompted a slight buzzing behind my eyes.

“I noticed.” I answered.

“Where’s the gun?”

I didn’t baulk at the question, or feel a familiar flare of irritation, I simply reached back, my hand questing beneath the pillow where it wrapped around the grip. I pulled the weapon free and held it up.

“Why is it under your pillow?”

If I had known Joel better- or just known him at all, I might have been able to tell what exactly the tone of his voice signified.

“I want it close, in case of intruders.” I said glibly.

I lifted my head just enough to make out the shape of Joel, a dark, unmoving mass and shifted my hold so the barrel was directed at him.

“Don’t point that fucking thing at me!” He snarled, his boots knocking against my feet as he lurched forward. “Put it down. Now.”

I was thrown into the memory of the day we’d met in that clearing, when he’d barked the same order with a rifle pointed at my head.

I let my arm drop and the gun clattered onto the floorboards.

He might have mumbled something under his breath then, but I couldn’t make it out. The buzzing was intensifying.

Joel moved forward and soon his large form filled the gap between my body and the couch. He crouched down, his knee brushing against my thigh. He picked up the gun and tossed it onto the couch.

“Still sleeping on the floor.”

My head rolled to the side and I found his eyes in the dark. Outside, the wind howled, the rain like stones thrown against the windows.

“I don’t really sleep.” I told him. “Doesn’t matter where I am.”

“You don’t sleep.” He repeated my words in a tone that I was far too untethered to pin an emotion to. If there was any emotion in it all.

“Why are you here?” I asked, if only to fill the silence.

I missed the sound of the wind through the gap in the door, considered asking him to go back and open it again but then thought better of it.

“I was passin’ by.” He said.

I chose that moment to force myself to sit up. Being around another person coerced me into some kind of self-awareness and I realised I was in a vulnerable position: him looming over me.

Once I was upright, the details of Joel came into focus. He was soaked from the rain. His tan coat darkened by patches of moisture. A grey-flecked curl fell over his forehead. I was much closer to him when upright. Close enough that I felt the warmth coming off him, flooding the freezing room.

My skin began to prickle.

“Why were you passing?”

“Hmm?” Joel hummed, Then, still kneeling he shifted closer to me. The knuckles of the hand thar he used to hold himself up, ran along the outside of my leg.

“It’s late.” I said thickly. “Why were you wandering about in the rain?”

Joel huffed as his eyes dropped to the ground. Perhaps he’d only just realised he was touching me and decided to take a look. He didn’t move his hand away. “You about to give me a lecture?” He asked.

I shook my head. “No. Tell me.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Is all he offered.

“You’re dripping onto my floors.” I said, drawing attention to the tell-tale noise that had been poking holes in the silence between our speech.

Joel’s thick brows rose, as if he was affronted. “Oh, they’re your floors? Thought you weren’t sticking around.”

The double meaning swelled in the air between us, taking up space. It stole our breath.

Was that what I’d been doing in Jackson the past two weeks? Just sticking around ?

Yes, I realised. It was exactly what I’d been doing.

I loitered in the land of the living when I knew full well that I didn’t belong anymore.

“My floors, for now.”

The hand against my leg lifted and then passed across my torso coming to settle on my side. With me now partially caged in, Joel leaned closer, which left our faces only a hands breadth apart.

The cold from his damp coat felt like it was seeping into me.

“For now.” Joel repeatedly tersely. His jaw tensed.

“Yes.”

Then his eyes flicked to the coffee table- to Fred’s blood-stained teddy bear.

“Your kid?” He asked upon a strained whisper.

Yes. No. My child and yet not.

My nephew. My reason for living. Mine.

Almost of its own will, my hand shot out and grabbed the collar of Joel’s coat. I held him so tightly I thought my knuckle bones might split my skin. The action inadvertently tugged him closer. His breath fanned out across my face.

“Don’t.” I warned him.

“Don’t what?” His voice had turned brittle, as if something within him was breaking. Perhaps it was his resolve.

“I can’t—” I spluttered out. “I'm not talking about that.”

About him.

Fred was still a part of me. Talking about him after his loss felt like surrendering further pieces of him; tearing of strips of my own skin, a slow flaying of flesh.

“Okay.”

“Don’t try to know me.”

Wanting to escape Joel’s unrelenting gaze, I stared at a bead of water that had fallen from his hair and rolled down his temple. I still had hold of his coat, the damp fabric bunched up between my freezing fingers.

“Who said that’s what I was doing?” Joel challenged, sounding almost insolent.

I made myself meet his eyes again. “Why are you here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He repeated, a stubborn set to his jaw. “Was walking.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Your door was open.”

“You could have shut it and kept on going.”

“Should’ve.” He admitted gruffly.

My shoulders sagged and I shook my head, trying to dislodge his unwavering gaze. It didn’t work

“I don’t want to talk, Joel.” I told him tiredly.

“Don’t have to talk.”

We watched each other closely. Carefully.

“Okay.” I uttered.

My breathing faltered as Joel’s calloused hand curled around my wrist and tugged, encouraging me to release my hold on him. I did immediately. Then, his other hand landed on my back and he began to guide me down. It wasn’t gentle, but the force didn't feel like an imposition.

When the back of my head hit the pillow, he clambered over me. One knee rested on the ground beside my hip, while the other nudged my legs open.

Joel sat back on his knees, his dark pupils trained on me as he unzipped his coat. I watched as he shucked it off and then tossed it onto the couch, right on top of my gun. Then he began to unbutton the cuffs of his plaid shirt.

A sensation that I thought had been lost to me long ago returned; something deep within me coiling tight at the sight of him rolling his sleeves up his toned forearms.

Then he crowded over me. His hands planted themselves on either side of my head. Joel held himself there, our chests brushed against each other, no longer enough space between us for them to swell with full breaths.

There was something suffocating about having him so near. Perhaps that’s why I welcomed it when he pressed even closer.

It felt almost as if Joel tried to cover my body completely with his and absorb me into him. He ran his hand down the side of my face, thumb grazing my cheek before he tucked my hair behind my ear. Then he pressed his lips there to whisper:

“If you want me gone, say it.”

“If I don’t?” I asked breathlessly.

Joel’s breath was hot against the side of my face and it faltered ever so slightly before he spoke again.

“Got something that might help you sleep.”

We stayed like that as his statement dissipated in the air like smoke. Even when it went, the scent lingered: heady and overwhelming.

I lifted my hand tentatively and let it fall on the back of Joel’s neck when he didn’t flinch from it. I don’t know I’d expected him to. I ran my hand up and my fingers collected drops of water until they curled into the hair at the nape of his neck.

In answer, Joel ran his lips down the shell of my ear and then nipped the lobe with his teeth. My eyes fluttered shut at the slight sting.

Joel was solid, tangible enough that he grounded me. He was something that wasn’t going to slip through my fingers. And yet he was utterly detached from me, after this, he would drift away untethered.

I knew whatever happened between us would be fleeting; melt away with the sunrise like frost. I wanted it that way.

My hands fell away from the back of Joel’s neck as he pulled back. Not far, just enough so that he could grab the band of my sweatpants and tug them down, my underwear going with them. He reached the curve of my ass and lifted my hips so that he could pull the clothing free.

I shivered at the rush of the freezing air of my exposed flesh, but Joel was already crawling back on top of me, his warmth returning. I stared up at him as he took two of his own fingers into his mouth. He pulled them free and they glistened with his own spit. Moistness gathered between my thighs accompanied by an agonising throb.

Joel pressed his chest to mine, my hardened nipples pressing through my t-shirt and into his.

When his fingers ran through my folds, my head fell back. He wasted no time, pressing firmly on the way down before he pushed them inside of me. He held them there, no doubt feeling me pulsing around him.

His mouth fell against my neck, not kissing, but holding me flesh between his teeth as he began to pump his fingers. The movement was almost languid, his digits rippling inside of me.

My breath stuttered and my hands lifted, falling on either side of his neck just for something to hold onto.

Joel’s mouth closed into an almost kiss against my pulse point and the little hum he let out vibrated through me.

The tightness deep within me intensified, but just as I began to grow close, he pulled his fingers out of me, leaving an ache in his wake.

But then there was the clink of his belt buckle and his hands fumbled to pull it free. I moved to help him, my fingers brushing against his own that were slick with me.

He submitted to my help and his hands returned to either side of my head as I pulled the belt free of the loops and let it drop to the ground. I went to work on the fly of his jeans, now desperate and panting, but he would not abide my help in that endeavour.

He murmured disapproval and took hand into his and held it above my head. He did the same with the other one and cuffed both of my wrists together with just one of his hands. With the other he popped the button of his jeans and the undoing of the fly soon followed.

His fingers ran through the sensitive flesh between my legs and gathered up some of the slickness there. He kept his eyes on my face as he took himself in the same hand and spread my arousal over his hardness.

My t-shirt had been shucked up to reveal my belly. His eyes flicked to the ugly scar just above my pelvis only briefly.

When Joel lined himself up at my entrance, I let my eyes flutter closed. It had been so long, but I didn't care. I wanted him inside me, to feel him moving. To feel pleasure. Anything to keep the numbness at bay.

Joel pressed himself inside me with a hard thrust. A low groan came from his throat and the hand holding my wrists tightened.

Our hips aligned. And then he began to move, rolling into me, the force of the movements pushed me along the floor, rumpling the blanket beneath me.

When I lifted my feet and wrapped them around his hips, intent on driving him into me even harder, Joel groaned in pleasure. His head dropped low again and his lips skimmed over my temple, then brushed over the still healing gash on my forehead.

Pressure built within me as he pounded relentlessly. The sound of our fevered joining and ragged breathing blocked out everything else, even the wind and rain beyond the house. In that moment it didn't really feel like there was a beyond. Just him.

When I murmured his name, Joel released my wrists. My hands immediately ran up his neck and over the sides of his face. Right when I brushed past the scar on his temple, he pressed his lips against the wound on my forehead.

He thrust into me with such a bruising force that my pleasure burst, my release rolling through me in a violent shudder. I dug my nails into Joel’s hair and his thrusts became sloppier, slowing until he was just grinding his hips against mine.

His hands mirrored my own and he cradled my head, his forehead pressed to mine as he came inside of me.

We stayed like that, our sticky skin pressed close, until our breathing calmed.

Joel pulled out of me and then sat back on his haunches. I felt him looking at me so I shut my eyes again.

I don’t remember much after that before I drifted off.

:✮:·

When I woke up, I was alone. There was an ache between my legs, but it wasn’t painful. I was fully-clothed and tucked beneath the blanket. Almost warm.

But, while I was glad that Joel was nowhere to be found–it had felt like an unspoken agreement between us–something else was missing.

My gun was gone. Again.

Bastard.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller smut #smut

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